


Monster

by Antosha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Department of Mysteries Six, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Ginny is a Horcrux, Hand prints, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Life Debt, Plot, Post-Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 09:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23968933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antosha/pseuds/Antosha
Summary: At Ginny's sixteenth birthday party, she asks Harry for a present he hadn't planned on giving her. (Writtenjustpost-HBP.)
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. After the Party

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, there was a book. It was called Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, and it was lovely. I bought two copies at midnight on release day at a Waterstone's in Notting Hill Gate while on vacation with my family.
> 
> Oh, there were those who thought the book was awful and ugly, but it floated a little ship called the SS Orange Crush.
> 
> And then it sank it. Sort of. XD
> 
> Now, I was a good Harry/Ginny fan—I loved that the thematic and character threads that I'd seen in the first five books of the series did in fact pay off. And I understood Harry's reasons for breaking off his relationship with Ginny at the end of the book, but it kinda ticked me off.
> 
> Also, the Horcruxes in HBP caused a couple of huge, wonky plot-bunnies to chomp on me. And so, four days after HBP made it's debut, while I was sitting in the middle of the Tuileries Gardens in Paris, waiting for my kids to finish with the carnival there, I wrote what I thought was a one-shot. This was one of the first (if not the first) H/G fics to hit SIYE, FA.org, etc after HBP, and it got a rather huge (for me, in any case) volume of reviews.
> 
> Well, between the Mugglenet/Leaky interview and the rather unprecedented (and occasionally troubling) response, I felt the need to continue the story. I present to you:

After dinner, Mrs. Weasley insisted that the two non-Weasleys present sit and let the family clean up. Fleur seemed to take it as a matter of pride that she had now been included in the family, but Harry sat a bit uneasily with Luna as the rest packed away the remains of the birthday feast.  
  
“I don’t go to birthday parties much,” Luna sighed, sipping the last of the dandelion wine that Mr. Weasley had broken out for the occasion. “This was so lovely tonight, being among people...”  
  
“Being among your friends,” Harry said, and her eyes lost some of their mistiness. “We _are_ your friends, Luna, you know that, right?”  
  
She looked at him steadily, her gaze focused on his left shoulder.  
  
“You’re _my_ friend,” he continued, not sure how he had gotten himself into this conversation.  
  
Suddenly she smiled, and her silver-blue eyes locked on his. “I’m glad.” Leaning forward she whispered, “I am your friend, Harry, but right now I think Ginny wants to talk to you more than I do.”  
  
Harry blinked. “Isn’t she... clearing away?”  
  
“Oh, no, she snuck off into the trees past the paddock. She is the birthday girl, after all. It’s her favorite alone spot. But I think she doesn’t want to be alone just now.”  
  
“Oh,” said Harry.  
  
  
  
  
  
He found Ginny sitting beneath the willow tree beside the Weasley’s paddock. Her chin was balanced on her knees, holding the hem of her skirt in place, and the tree-dappled light of the sunset made her hair burn fiercely as it flowed over her shoulders. Harry knew that, if he could see her face, the expression would be that leonine readiness that always made his heart skip.  
  
At that moment, Harry felt like the stupidest boy on the face of the earth.  
  
“Going to sit, Harry, or are you just enjoying the view?” she murmured without turning toward him.  
  
Both, he thought, but as he sat, he said, “Happy birthday, Ginny.”  
  
She turned towards him, managing to look both fierce and shy, and the animal in his chest that always seemed to respond to her kicked into a quiet growl. You walked away from this, he thought. You walked away and she understands. Don’t confuse yourself. Don’t hurt her. “Thank you for the broomstick, Harry. You didn’t have to do that.”  
  
Oh, yes, I did, he thought and shrugged. “I thought a top-flight Chaser’s broom like the Hummingbird would suit you, since you’re almost certain to be Captain next year.”  
  
She peered up into his eyes. “You’re really not coming back?”  
  
“No,” Harry sighed, because at the moment all he could think of was the dozens of classrooms and cupboards that he and Ginny hadn’t yet explored together. “No, and your brother and Hermione seem determined to stick with me.”  
  
She pursed her lips and looked back at the sunset—the sun had fallen below the horizon over the pond, and the sky was bedecked in spectacular Gryffindor colors. “Take me with you.”  
  
The growl inside of him grew, and Harry knew that he wanted nothing better than to have Ginny at his side when the next Death Eater ambush came, when they found the fourth Horcrux. He knew too that what he had told her at Dumbledore’s funeral was still true: that if she were hurt or worse at his side, he wasn’t sure how he could stand it. “Please, Ginny,” he said, his voice thick. “I can’t.”  
  
Again she looked at him; with the light behind her, her dark brown eyes seemed black. “I’ve thought a lot about what you said, Harry. I have one question that I have to ask you though. Is it that you think that caring for me was going to get in the way, or is it that you’re worried for me?”  
  
Opening his mouth and closing it again, Harry wondered for the nine hundredth time why he hadn’t tried to get involved with Ginny sooner. Here was a beautiful girl who he could actually talk to, who talked to him. Something annoyingly like regret was pricking at him, and he felt all of the resolve that had anchored him for the past two months beginning to shatter. Oh, hell. “Both,” he managed to say.  
  
She gave a sad half-laugh and a nod. “Right. That makes sense.” She looked away again. “Does it change anything if I tell you I’ll still be a target even if you leave me behind?”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
She began ticking points off on her fingers. “Well, there are a couple of things: first of all, I’m already known as one of your good friends. Luna, Neville and I came to the Department of Mysteries with you. Everyone knows that we were dating this spring. And...” She bit her lip. “You’re not going to like this, Harry.”  
  
“What?”  
  
She shook her hair so that it fell down over her face. It was a gesture she pulled out only when she had something to say that she was very upset about. “Harry... I could be a Horcrux.”  
  
He tried to wrap his mind around what she was saying, but failed. “What?”  
  
He could just see one brown eye peering through her hair. “Hermione told me about the Horcruxes, Harry. After you left for the Dursleys. I sort of... threatened to hex her if she didn’t tell me what the hell you and Dumbledore were doing before he was, you know....”  
  
Harry looked at his erstwhile girlfriend. If it had been anyone else that Hermione had told, he would be really upset. As it was, he was just thrown. “She told you? I can’t believe...”  
  
“I threatened to emasculate Ron.” Through the hair, her eye and voice sparkled.  
  
Harry snorted. His two best friends had yet to admit that they were a couple—at least to him—but their affection was clear. Harry could only imagine how effective that threat would have been, especially since Harry was quite sure Ginny would have had the means and nerve to follow through on it. “I see. Well, I still need to talk to her about it. But what were you talking about? How could _you_?...” Even as he began to ask, the answer came to him. “Oh.”  
  
She nodded. “Yeah. You destroyed Tom’s diary, but not before he’d poured himself into me for months. I’m still, erm, _aware_ of him nattering at me from time to time. I mean, maybe it’s just my imagination, but—“  
  
“No,” Harry said, emphatically. “It couldn’t be. If that were so, I would be too—he left part of himself in me when he tried to kill me the first time.”  
  
Again she shrugged, and parted her hair slightly. “Maybe. But it could be that, in order to kill the bastard, you’re going to have to—“  
  
“ _No_!” Harry barked. “It can’t be. I couldn’t.”  
  
“Maybe not, but I’d rather die than let Tom win.” Both eyes revealed now, her gaze froze him. “And I know you feel the same way, Harry. I told you. It’s one of the reasons I like you so much. I know you’re the Chosen One. I know you’re the only one who can kill the son of a bitch. And I don’t want to make chasing him harder.” She reached out and touched his cheek and he shuddered. “But you’re not the only one who gets to risk their life here, Harry. You let Ron and Hermione. Please. _Please_ , let me help you. It doesn’t have to be rom—“  
  
Suddenly, Harry found himself kissing her, and just as on their first kiss, time seemed to stop. This time, however, the days through which the kiss seemed to endure were not sunlit. Not at all.  
  
He pulled back when he realized that she was trembling against him. Her eyes were blazing—triumphant and frightened.  
  
Within him, the beast bellowed.  
  
“Ginny, I... I...” He couldn’t lie to her. “I don’t know. I’m frightened enough with Ron and Hermione near me—I couldn’t say no to them, even though I wanted to, not after all these years. But you? I... The idea of you being there when Greyback attacked us or Voldemort came after me or if one of the Horcruxes... They’re all booby trapped, Ginny. The diary was the only one he _meant_ to be found, and look at the damage _it_ did, I don’t want you to be hurt, I don’t want anyone to touch you, I—“  
  
She put her hand over his mouth and he realized he had been babbling. “Harry.” She withdrew her hand and began unbuttoning her top. “There’s one more reason I can’t let you go without me.”  
  
Harry hadn’t felt this terrified since Dumbledore’s death. Shivering, he watched silently, mouth open as she slowly removed her chemise.  
  
“I’m not trying to seduce you, Harry.” She smiled again, and Harry felt another howl rip through him. “Or perhaps I am. But I just need to show you—“ The top dropped to the ground and she turned away from him. “—this.”  
  
Harry and she had explored joyously during the weeks that they had been together. That first afternoon, after the Hufflepuff match, Ginny had introduced his fingers to the miracle of the soft flesh of her breasts. Suddenly, however, he realized that he had never seen her naked back—never while they were seeing each other, never before. Not under a bathing suit or a halter top or a low-backed dress. Always, she had had her back and shoulders covered.  
  
There, just over her two fine shoulder blades, were the images of two white hands—pale even against her fair skin. He held his own trembling hands up. They matched.  
  
Leaning back into his touch, Ginny sighed, “They’re from the Chamber. I never let anyone see them. Just Mum and Dad. Even Hermione and Luna don’t know. They’re where you were holding me when I woke up and I realized you had saved my life.”  
  
Stunned, Harry pulled her close to him.  
  
“You understand what a Life Debt is, don’t you, Harry?” He nodded into her hair. “So, you see, I’m afraid I can’t let you go, Harry Potter. I can’t, and I don’t want to. Please let me come with you.”  
  
He squeezed her hard, and held her. He didn’t know how to answer her. “I can’t say yes, Ginny, because I just _can’t_. But I don’t want to be without you, and that’s the truth.”  
  
She turned against him, and they kissed again, and Harry was very aware of the feel of her naked skin beneath his hands, of her breasts against his chest. Even the feel of the strap of her brassiere against one of his fingers enraged the beast.  
  
When they broke apart again, Ginny gazed at him cagily. “Harry,” she said, “do you know what I wished for every year for my birthday, from the age of eleven until last year?”  
  
Harry shook his head, speechless at the sight of her.  
  
She could see that. She knew. She smiled. “Every year for five years, my wish as I blew out the candle on my cake was that you would kiss me. And I got that wish this last year, now, didn’t I?” Her eyes danced mischievously.  
  
Harry could only grunt.  
  
“Do you know,” she continued, “what I wished for this year?” When he shook his head, she grinned, reached behind her back, and unsnapped the brassiere.  
  
The monster within him roared. But it was nowhere near the region of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original AN: Okay, so this is the obvious post-HBP fic, and I couldn't not write it, damn me. I'm sorry if it got a bit fluffy. Sorry if I couldn't keep the teen angst or the teen sex out of it. Ah, well.
> 
> BTW, this is un-betaed--I was just too tired and in too much of a hurry to bother anyone--even aberforths_rug, who has always been so gracious about it. In any case, I'd love any and all feedback.
> 
> ETA: I wrote this fic longhand four days after HBP came out while my kids were playing in a carnival. It was one of the first H/G fics published after HBP's release, and so it became one of my most read and commented-on fics. I think it's held up pretty well — aside from the plot points that JKR torpedoed in her MuggleNet/Leaky Cauldron interviews over the following days. Specifically, Ginny wasn't a Horcrux and didn't owe Harry a Life Debt. Those revelations got me thinking... what _were _those hand prints about then? The rest of the story flowed from there!__


	2. Beneath the Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, wishes can have as many consequences as actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, once again my resolve cracked. After reading over a hundred "OMG, what nappnes nixt!!111" reviews for Monster, and after conversations with brimac13 and aberforths_rug, I decided I'd tackle some of the unanswered questions in my first post-HBP fic.
> 
> Thanks for all of the feedback on the first chapter! And thanks to aberforths_rug, brimac13 and jenorama for the beta assistance!

Harry reached over and brushed a lock of penny-bright hair out of Ginny's face. Her eyes were locked on him, shining and steady. He could not speak.  
  
Harry had heard other boys talk about what it was like when you made love to a girl. Most of them clearly had no idea what they were talking about, but even the ones who did usually just laughed and winked a lot, and made the whole thing sound like a lark and half. What Harry and Ginny had just done had been astounding, but it hadn't been a lark. Not at all.  
  
Nothing had prepared him for what he was feeling just now. Not his encounters with Voldemort. Not the dragon during his fourth year or the Department of Mysteries or that awful cave.  
  
In the fading, tree-filtered light, Ginny's pale skin seemed to glow. So much of it, but Harry couldn't take his eyes off of her face, which had never looked so soft or so hard. _What is she thinking_? he wondered, desperately hoping that she would break the silence that had settled under the willows boughs, threatening to stifle him.  
  
She did not speak. Her eyes were as black and brilliant as the flakes of obsidian that they'd had to use in Slughorn's class this past year.  
  
Slughorn. Snape. Dumbledore.  
  
He shuddered, and felt her legs pull him closer. Her hands were still pressed, hot, against his chest. "M-maybe we could play Quidditch tomorrow?" he said, not at all sure why he said it.  
  
Her pale brows scrunched together, and he felt her shoulders begin to shake, and for a moment Harry thought--hoped--that Ginny was going to laugh. But she didn't. She began to cry. "Bugger!" she sniffed. "Bollocks!"  
  
Blinking, Harry suddenly wished he hadn't let her put his glasses with their clothes. Was she angry? Was she disappointed? "It's all right. We don't have to p-play..."  
  
And then she began to sob: wet, hot gouts of breath against his bare neck, tears--and snot too, he reckoned--and he thought for a moment about getting his wand so that he could conjure a hankie, or just grabbing his shirt so that she could blow her nose. Running screaming into the night. But his instinct--which was so often wrong with girls--told him that if he let go of her now, he might never get her back. She might explode.  
  
In all of the years that they'd known each other, Harry had only seen Ginny Weasley cry twice: once when she had awoken, desperate with her own guilt after he had ruined the Horcrux diary; and once at Dumbledore's funeral. Other than those moments, she'd never shown so much as a moist eye, not even when he'd told her she needed to stay away from him. What he'd done now to cause her to weep so catastrophically he couldn't even begin to imagine. He'd do anything to make it right. Talking to Ginny wasn't usually hard, but this seemed terrifying. Holding her tight to him, he was aware that his hands were over their ghost images on her heaving shoulder blades. "Ginny?" he whispered into her bobbing forehead. "What's wrong?"  
  
She pushed back hard and gaped at him, her nose and cheeks glistening in the twilight shade. "Wrong? What the b-b-bloody hell do you _THINK_ is wrong?"  
  
Harry was suddenly aware that the monster that had been so much his companion for the past year whenever Ginny was near was suddenly utterly entirely absent. He felt empty. Hollow. "Sorry it was disappointing," he said in a voice that sounded tinny to his ear.  
  
She barked out a wet, distinctly unamused laugh and buried her face back in his shoulder. "Yeah. Right," she spat. "I'm such a slag, of course I'm comparing you to the other ten boys I've done this with this week. I'm such a _slut_..." She began to wail again. Harry had no idea what to say or do, and so he held her close. "Threw myself at you, threw myself at you and I know, I know, I've heard Charlie and Bill and even P-Percy t-t-talking about girls, I know what you m-must _think_ and I'm so bloody _scared_... You think I'm a bloody hosepipe and a s-scarlet--"  
  
Harry found himself gripping her hard; she gasped. "No one says that about the girl I love, do you hear me? Not even you."  
  
Ginny's mouth closed so quickly he heard the teeth click.  
  
Suddenly that empty space that had opened inside of Harry was full, boiling--not anything scaly, this time, but fiery and feathered, and he felt himself expand, knowing that whatever else was between him and Ginny, there was truth. And this was the time for truth. "The only thing scarlet about you is your hair, Ginny, and do you know what I want more than anything in the world? I want to watch it turn grey. Very, very slowly. And I'm so bloody scared that I'm not going to..." He whispered fiercely into her ear, "Did Hermione tell you about the prophecy, too?" When she gave an almost imperceptible nod, he went on. "I know it's no surprise that I have to _vanquish_ the bastard, though even that seems so impossible... But 'neither can live while the other survives'? One of us or maybe _both_ of us are going to die. And I can't promise you that it isn't going to be me." He took a deep, unsteady breath and finished. "You said you might be a Horcrux, Ginny, but I know that isn't true. I destroyed the piece of him that was trying to kill us both. I watched it die. He wasn't pouring in to you; he was sucking out of you.  
  
"But what about me? Why am I a parselmouth? Why do I get twinges in my scar and visions of the awful things he's doing? What if he didn't come to Godric's Hollow to kill me that Halloween? What if the curse that rebounded on him wasn't _Avada Kedavra_ , but the curse that places a piece of the soul in a Horcrux? He'd just killed my father. I bet that was the murder that was the trigger to... to put part of himself into me like one of those spiders that lays its eggs in some poor live bug. What if, in order to _vanquish_ him, _I_ have to die?" This was his most secret, greatest fear. It was the one theory that he had never had the courage to run by Hermione.  
  
"No," Ginny said, her voice small but steady against his cheek. She wasn't sobbing anymore.  
  
"Why not?" Harry could hear his voice rising in volume and pitch. "Did you know he didn't want to kill my mum? Why not? That sort of thing never bothered him before. Maybe he was looking for a _nurse_ to keep his little bit of himself safe." Harry had never allowed himself even to consider that part of the idea. Hearing it pop out of his mouth, Harry had to fight the urge to vomit.  
  
"Harry," Ginny said, and the sound of her voice anchored him. "That can't be it."  
  
"Why not?" he asked again, though without as much certainty.  
  
"If you were his sixth Horcrux, why has he been trying to kill you over and over? Seems like a rather stupid thing to do."  
  
"Oh." Considering this, turning it over in his mind, Harry had never felt so relieved to feel like an idiot.  
  
"Besides," Ginny sighed, "I've seen Tom Riddle's soul, and I've had a pretty good view of yours, and trust me, Harry, you may talk to snakes and get weird flashes from the old bugger, but you're not carrying any bits of that evil bastard inside of you." She leaned back from him. "Harry? No one gets to say that about the boy that I love. Not even you."  
  
Suddenly, the winged creature within Harry seemed to explode from his chest, and he was kissing her--they were kissing--all over.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When they broke apart again some time later it was truly dark. Harry released the charms and wards that he'd set around the tree, and starlight and the sound of crickets seeped in.  
  
Ginny was casting cleansing charms on herself, and on the blanket that she'd conjured. The two handprints on her back seemed to glow. Harry was about to compliment her on the conjuration when it suddenly struck him. "Wait a tick. You're still underage."  
  
She shot a wry look at him.  
  
Blushing, he stammered, "Not to, you know, do what we've been doing, but _magic_." He pointed at her wand.  
  
She laughed. "Going to turn me in?"  
  
"Of course not! But... I mean, I got dive-bombed with owls from the Ministry about fifteen minutes after I got rid of those Dementors in Little Whinging." He grabbed his wand and began cleaning himself up as well.  
  
"You think Mafalda Hopkirk doesn't have enough to do without scanning wizarding households for magic use? She'd go spare."  
  
Harry tried to wrap his mind around this thought; he remembered Morfin Gaunt, and nodded, then stopped. "Wait. All these years: why hasn't Ron?--"  
  
Again Ginny laughed, and it was a full, rich laugh that brought Harry out all goose flesh. "Because the poor bastard got caught. Every time! Mum actually turned him in--twice. And don't you think Hermione would have done the same?"  
  
Grinning, Harry said, "Well, she's softened a bit."  
  
"A bit." With a smirk, Ginny began to pull on Harry's shirt. When he began to object, she smiled at him pertly. "I am, after all, the girl you love."  
  
Something in the vicinity of Harry's stomach fluttered. "I said that, didn't I?"  
  
"Yes, you did."  
  
He crawled over and kissed her. "This is going to take some getting used to."  
  
"I think I'm willing to get used to it." She peered up at him. "You?"  
  
He nodded and began to kiss her throat, but she pushed him back.  
  
"You realize," she said, "that this tosses the whole 'my darling, stay away for your own good' thing right out the window. You're not getting rid of me now."  
  
"I don't know that I could stand to try again," Harry admitted.  
  
"Good," she said, pulling him in to an embrace, her hands moving over his still-naked back.  
  
Some time later, when they came up for air again, Harry asked, "Gin? About those handprints on your back? Why do they still match mine? I've grown a bit since second year, after all."  
  
She shrugged and said, "Well, so have I. And after all, Harry: this is magic."  
  
_So it is_ , thought Harry, and began pulling on his trousers.  
  
"And Harry?" Ginny asked, and for the first time since the crying had stopped, she sounded tentative. "Would you mind?... My brothers have always called me Gin. And Gin-gin. And Ginnikins, and Gingersnap, and any number of other silly nicknames. I'd rather... I mean, _Ginny_ 's a nickname, when it comes to that."  
  
"It is?" he mused.  
  
Nodding, she said, "My name's Ginevra." Her face suddenly looked very small indeed.  
  
"Wow," Harry said. "That's beautiful. Can I call you that?"  
  
Ginny's eyes softened. "Only... only in private. Ron and the boys would give me no end of hell if they heard you. They think it's too prissy."  
  
Thinking that Ginny was the least prissy girl he had ever known, Harry agreed. "Okay. Ginevra."  
  
With a grin, she stood, and they began to walk back towards the Burrow. "Um. I don't think I'll be playing Quidditch tomorrow." When he looked at her, he realized she was blushing. "Too sore."  
  
"Oh. I could heal..." he began to offer, but she stopped his wand.  
  
"I think I'm rather proud of this," she said. Holding his hand in hers, she said, very quietly. "And I wasn't disappointed, Harry."  
  
"Oh," he said. "I'm glad." They walked for a few more moments in silence. "I wish it'd... I wish I'd lasted a bit longer."  
  
The smile she turned on him was bright and wicked and utterly Ginny. "Next time," she said, and they walked wordlessly back into her home.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Standing at her bedroom window, brush in hand, Molly Weasley sighed, watching them stroll, hand in hand, her daughter in a shirt that Molly knew for Harry's, even from this distance.  
  
From the bed, Arthur muttered sleepily, "They come in, yet?"  
  
"Yes," Mrs. Weasley said. "Just now."  
  
"Ah," her husband said. "Shall I have a word with young Harry?"  
  
"No, Arthur, I don't think that's necessary." To herself, however, Molly thought, _It looks as if they've done all of the talking that's going to be done._ Ron was already flying the nest, and now Ginny... _You had better take care of my babies, Harry Potter._ Pushing the beginnings of a tear aside, her mind filling with the image of a scrawny boy with bright green eyes standing, lost, at King's Cross, she climbed in to bed beside her husband, and kissed him good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had not intended to write a second chapter to "Monster." It was originally written four days after Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince came out as an attempt to try to work out some of my thoughts and feelings about unresolved issues in the book. Of course, the last part JKR's Leaky Cauldron/MuggleNet interview came out about thirty-six hours later and rendered two of my plot-points instantly AU. Oops. :-)
> 
> This chapter is in part an attempt to rectify that, but also sprang out of some unresolved questions that I felt that "Monster" had raised.
> 
> I'm planning on writing ~~two~~ four more chapters _and an epilogue_ to wrap up some of the more obvious HBP-raised questions, and then I'll stop. Really. :shifty eyes:


	3. On the Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You never know what (or who) you'll find at 5:30 in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to aberforths_rug for the beta. (I still have a couple of betas I'll be hearing from, but I wanted to post this... Impatience. Tisk. All of which is to say, this chapter may change. ^.^ Of course, if you have any suggestions, I'd be happy to incorporate them, as always. :grins:)

"Don't go," Ginny murmured blearily.  
  
"Got to, love," Harry sighed, pulling on his shirt. He was too tired and it was too dark to find the buttons, so he left it open.  
  
"Mum never gets up till six," sighed Ginny, tugging at his shirttail. "Come back to bed."  
  
"It's half five now, nearly. The sun's coming up soon. Ginny. Ginevra." He gently pried her hand away from his shirt, knelt and kissed the tips of her fingers. "Hermione needs to get back down here. If your parents see me in here, we'll find out whether Voldemort's really the only one who can kill me. And if they find her up _there_... Well, I'm not sure how many of your friends and siblings will be alive come breakfast."  
  
Smiling, Ginny ran her fingers along his cheek. "Wish you were still on this floor. Wish you didn't have to share."  
  
He looked at her and heard what she meant: _I wish we could always be together_. Again he kissed her hand--the palm, this time--and walked to the door. Turning back, he stared at her, trying to etch into his memory the dim flame of her hair in the predawn light, the ocean swell of her breath, the twist of those wonderful lips...  
  
"Go, idiot," those lips said, "or come back to bed. You'll be just as dead if they find you over there as if you were snuggling over here, warm and comfy."  
  
Grinning, he blew her a kiss, and quietly stepped through the door before he could be tempted back.  
  
As he turned away from Ginny's room, he was surprised to find Hermione, standing as frozen as if he'd cast a Full Body Bind on her. "Morning," he whispered across the landing.  
  
"Good morning," she answered, perfectly polite, but looking for all the world as if Devil’s Snare might come bursting out of the walls at any moment and drag her down into some dungeon. Mrs Weasley’s torture chamber for scarlet women, no doubt.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Never better," she replied, and her face held that familiar mixture of terror and joy that had been so much his companion over the past twelve hours or so. He would have laughed if there hadn't been a house packed with Weasleys and Delacours all around them. Not even thinking, Harry bounded across the landing and threw his arms around Hermione; as she choked back a squeak of surprise, he realized that the same gentle odor of sweat and sex that he had tried to Scourgify away from himself and Ginny was wafting from Hermione.  
  
"So," he whispered in her ear, "did you and Ron have a nice _chat_?"  
  
She laughed, and it was a low, deep laugh that Harry was sure he had never heard from his friend. "Yes," she said. "As a matter of fact, we did. You and Ginny?"  
  
Now Harry felt a little tickle of guilt. "Hermione, when you suggested this last night... Ginny and I are back together. We'd already... um... We'd already done most of the chatting we needed to do before we'd even come up to the room."  
  
"Really?" Hermione's eyes narrowed, and Harry suddenly feared that she was going to launch in to a lecture on responsibility or honesty or Safe Sex. Instead her mouth bowed primly and she said, "Good on you."  
  
They broke into giggles, collapsing there on the stairs that led up to the attic.  
  
When they had recovered, they leaned against each other as they hadn't felt comfortable doing in years, and Harry reveled in her barely perceptible scent of new parchment and...  
  
"Freshly mown grass," Harry said, and she blinked at him. "Ron. That was the scent that you smelled in the Amortentia."  
  
She smiled and nodded. "And what did _you_ smell, Harry?"  
  
"Treacle tart, broom wax and... something flowery. Does Ginny wear a perfume?" When Hermione shook her head, Harry looked sadly at his unlaced shoes. "Oh. I wanted to buy her some."  
  
"I think it's a shampoo that she and her mum brew. They use freesia blossoms for the scent and their color-enhancing properties."  
  
"Oh," Harry said. Perhaps he could find some freesia-scented perfume for her. Or perhaps he could keep some of the shampoo for himself, so that he could smell her even when... But they were never going to be apart. Never. "She's going to come with us after the wedding, Hermione."  
  
Her face tightened. "She can't, Harry. It's too dangerous. She's got school--"  
  
"She can't _not_. I couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand it." As her eyes searched his, he grabbed her hands. "I promise, when the bastard is finally taken care of, we'll all come back and finish school and sit our NEWTs. But there's something more important that needs to be done, now, and she should be doing it too. She knows Voldemort better even than I do, Hermione. She's suffered at his hand. She deserves to help us, and there's no one I'd rather have with us."  
  
"Won't you be afraid for her?"  
  
"Won't you be afraid for Ron?"  
  
Hermione's face blanched. "I already am. Terrified. For him. For you."  
  
"Hermione, if you left Ron here, do you think you'd be any less scared? I wasn't, this whole last month after you two brought me to the Dursleys. All I could think of was Ginny, and if she was safe, and if I wrote her would it put her in danger."  
  
"Idiot."  
  
"Yup. Definitely. What could have been the most wonderful month of my life wasted, teasing Dudley with you two."  
  
Hermione smiled thinly. "Yes, I could tell you enjoyed having a couple of wizards who were of age in the house. It's a good thing they never realized we couldn’t do anything without getting you in trouble."  
  
Harry shrugged. "I could have handled Dudley and my aunt and uncle. But it was nice having you there. It was lonely when you left."  
  
Her smile dimmed. "Harry, Ginny's not of age. You need to talk to her parents."  
  
"Yeah. You're right. We do."  
  
"They probably won't give their permission."  
  
Again he shrugged. "Maybe you can help us persuade them?"  
  
"I can try." Hermione's forehead rested against Harry's for a moment. "Was it nice? Last night?"  
  
Harry felt the flutter of something feathered near his throat. "Amazing. Scary. You?"  
  
"Yes," she said, nodding against him. She leaned back against the balusters. In the dim, indirect light of the landing, her eyes were black and sunken. "Harry?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Did you ever think of me... romantically?"  
  
"Uh..." Her gaze seemed as steady and as piercing as Dumbledore's, and Harry knew again that truth was called for. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."  
  
Her face relaxed. "Really?"  
  
Harry nodded. Her kiss on Platform 9 3/4 had been one of the few things that had gotten him through the month after their fourth year. It had made it all the harder to stomach Ron and Hermione's coziness when he had arrived at Grimmauld Place. "Yeah."  
  
"Oh," she said, and Harry thought he saw her face color.  
  
"Did you?" he asked. "Ever feel, you know, that way about me?"  
  
She graced him with a small grin. "Of course."  
  
"Oh." Harry tried to think back, to see if he had missed something. "I didn't do anything really stupid and Ron-like, did I?"  
  
The smile grew. "Not much. Though I must admit I wanted to bat you around the head a bit during that whole fiasco with Cho."  
  
His eyes narrowed as he remembered her expression when he had told her about the disaster at Madam Puddifoot's. "You were _pleased_ , weren't you? That she and I broke it off because she thought I wanted to be with you?"  
  
"Well, for _your_ sake as much as mine, Harry!" She looked down, her curly mane obscuring most of her face. "She really _wasn't_ the right one for you, you’ve said it yourself. And... That day, when Luna and I were waiting for you and Rita to show up, Luna asked me when I was going to make up my mind."  
  
"She asked you _what?_ "  
  
"She said I clearly couldn't decide which of you--you and Ron--I wanted to, to _be_ with. The horrible thing was, she was absolutely right."  
  
Harry tried to imagine Luna Lovegood advising Hermione on romance and chuckled. "Surprises you that way sometimes, doesn't she?"  
  
Nodding earnestly, Hermione continued, "That's when I started to realize that, as handsome and wonderful as you are, it was Ron I actually fancied, for reasons that are still quite unfathomable to me. I mean, Harry, I do _love_ you..."  
  
Laughing quietly again, Harry leaned across the stairs and kissed Hermione on the lips, shocking them both. Lack of sleep. Too much love. "I love you too, Hermione. And I'm so happy for you and Ron I could scream."  
  
"Oh," Hermione said, blushing darkly and staring at his torso. "Oh. Yes." Then she canted her head and stared harder. "Harry... What's happened to your chest?"  
  
"My?..." He glanced down. At close range all that he could see was that there was some sort of whitish stain between his nipples. "What?" he asked, brushing at it.  
  
Hermione flipped out her wand and tapped it against his skin three times, and then a fourth. Each tap was accompanied by a slightly different wand movement; two he recognized as healing charms. "Come here," she said, suddenly all business, and pulled him towards the small bathroom. Closing the door and turning on the light with two quick wand flicks, Hermione led Harry to the mirror. "Look."  
  
On Harry's chest a white shape burned against his pale skin: it looked like a winged creature rising. A phoenix. A dragon. "It's Ginny's hands," he gasped.  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's where her hands were when we, you know..."  
  
"Made love," muttered Hermione.  
  
"She has a pair of my handprints on the back of her shoulders just like this, from when I saved her in the Chamber of Secrets." Harry's heart was racing.  
  
Hermione peered at him and shook her head.  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's just... Harry, most people fall in love, _make_ love, and it feels magical." She smirked. " _You_ have sex, and it _is_ magic."  
  
Harry had to tear his eyes away from the mark that Ginny had left on him. Hermione's face was closed. "I... Hermione, I'm sorry."  
  
His friend shook herself and smiled--a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. "It's all right, Harry. Ron and I have gotten used to your... specialness. Sometimes, however, it is a bit humbling."  
  
Touching her shoulder, he looked into her eyes. "Trade you." She arched an eyebrow and he said, "I'd rather be special for what I do than what I was born to, Hermione. There's a lot more to _you_ than books and cleverness."  
  
Hermione pulled him to her. "Thank you, Harry. But what you do is pretty special, I think. We'd all be dead a dozen times over if it weren't for your quick thinking and courage."  
  
Desperate to change the subject, Harry said, "Ginny thinks the marks on her are the signs of a Life Debt. I wonder what this one is about?"  
  
Hermione pulled back, brows pursed. "A Life Debt? Harry, I did a lot of research after you made Sirius and Professor Lupin let Peter Pettigrew go. Life Debts leave no outward sign--it's one of the reasons that they're so mysterious. The only person who knows that one has been created is the person who owes the debt."  
  
"But Ginny--"  
  
"Ginny may feel she owes you her life, Harry, but that's not a Life Debt, no more than what Mr. Weasley or Ron owes you. In order for such a bond to be created, a witch or wizard must risk his or her own life by stepping between the victim and his or her doom. As your father did for Professor Snape. As you did for Peter Pettigrew."  
  
"As I?..." Harry shook his head. "But Sirius and Moony wouldn't have killed me, surely."  
  
"Harry, remember. Sirius was nearly mad. And Professor Lupin was half an hour away from transformation. When you stopped them, I really did think they were both going to kill you, if only for a moment."  
  
Staring back into the mirror, Harry looked at the flying shape on his chest. For a flash, it looked like the Hungarian Horntail that Ginny had joked about being tattooed there, and he smiled. Then he shook his head again. "Hermione. If it wasn't a Life Debt that created this, that created the ones on Ginny's shoulders, then what?"  
  
Hermione gazed at it too, and Harry was struck by how odd it was that neither of them was embarrassed that they were both standing here looking at his naked chest. Hermione raised her fingers to her lips. "I don't know. It's some sort of bond, that's obvious, but I've never heard of something like this. Perhaps Professor MacGonagall--"  
  
"Hermione, I'm not asking Professor MacGonagall how Ginny's handprints got burned into my flesh while we were shagging!"  
  
Her mouth remained drawn, but the edges fluttered upwards. "I suppose not. Shall we ask Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, then?" One eyebrow arched eloquently.  
  
"Hermione," Harry spluttered, his stomach sinking, "I'm already sure they're going to kill me for trying to take Ron and Ginny on this ridiculous treasure hunt. What if these handprints are some sort of wizarding sex thing?"  
  
Hermione laughed at that. "Harry, somehow I think that if it were just that, no one above fourth year would ever swim in the lake--either because they'd been marked, or because they hadn't. You've seen Fred and Angelina swimming--can you imagine someone as dark-skinned as she is being able to hide a pair of white hand marks under a bikini that small?"  
  
Harry's mind suddenly overflowed with the image of Angelina and Fred frolicking in the lake, of her miniscule parrot-hued two-piece and her abundant flesh, of where Fred's hands might have pressed themselves. He shivered. "No. I guess not."  
  
"No. As I said, Harry. Your specialness is sometimes quite humbling." He looked up at her; she had a wicked sort of half-grin on her face. "I'll try to do some discreet research when we go to headquarters after the wedding."  
  
"Thanks." He felt sheepish, counting on his friend to research something so personal. A thought occurred to him; it wasn't a good one. "I wasn't even supposed to tell _you_ about her shoulders, Hermione. Oh, hell. She's always kept it a secret."  
  
"Yes," she replied with the airy distraction that usually meant she was piecing something together. "Yes, I'd always wondered why she always dressed with her back to the wall, away from windows and mirrors." She looked up at Harry. "Well, most young girls, we turn away when we're feeling shy about being naked. I'm sure boys are the same. I always assumed Ginny was just trying to brazen it out."  
  
"That sounds like Ginny," Harry said, smiling shakily.  
  
"True. Harry, don't worry about having told me. We'll explain about your chest. I'm sure she'll understand my finding out."  
  
"Maybe," he muttered.  
  
She touched his cheek. "You still think you can lose us, don’t you? You think you can say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing and we'll all turn on you."  
  
He tried to look down, but she wouldn't let him. "I... Some of the things I've done, Hermione, I wouldn't blame you."  
  
"Now you look at me, Harry Potter. Don't try to look away. I want you to hear this. We love you. We believe in you. We're not going anywhere."  
  
"I..." _I let Dumbledore die_ , he thought. _I let Sirius die and Cedric, I let Peter Pettigrew and Bellatrix Lestrange and Malfoy and Snape get away. I put you and Ron and Ginny and Neville and Luna in danger, and all for nothing._ He also thought about 'the power the Dark Lord knows not,' and about Dumbledore facing down Draco on the tower, and so he said merely, "Okay."  
  
Hermione hugged him, and he was very aware of her arms, of her thin-clad body against his. His stomach rumbled.  
  
"Hungry?" Hermione laughed. He nodded and shrugged, and she said tartly, "An active night will do that. Mind, I'm starving too. We should go down and see if we can beat Mrs. Weasley to the kitchen and get breakfast started."  
  
"Part of your campaign to get her to let Ginny to come with us?" He loved the smile she gave when she was caught being clever--it was a very Weasley-ish side of Hermione that she didn't show the world very often. "Sounds like a great idea. Come one, let's get down there before Ron and Ginny find us in here and decide we're up to something. Ron won't be happy with the idea of me spending the night with his sister, but I'll be pummeled into oatmeal if he thinks I'm snogging his girlfriend."  
  
Together, arm in arm, they walked out of the bathroom and down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter sprang from two sources: the last part of JKR's MuggleNet/Leaky Cauldron interview, in which she stated unequivocally that Ginny did not owe Harry a Life Debt, which left me trying to think where the handprints on her shoulders came from; and thistleroses's lovely (and NC-17) Ron/Hermione fic ["In the Dark" (aka "Under the Covers")](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002575), which struck me when I read it as the perfect image of what Ron and Hermione had gotten up to while Harry and Ginny were, um, reconciling. Actually, the real H/G companion fic to "In the Dark" is a wonderful, funny bit of fluff/smut entitled "Together" by krabapple (also NC-17); I highly recommend both. If, of course, you are of an age and an inclination to read such. ;-)


	4. Around the Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning brings surprises.

As Harry tip-toed with Hermione down the stairs, watched by scores of red-headed Weasleys in dozens of pictures, he found himself thinking of another redhead--one with much darker hair than Ginny's family. One with almond-shaped green eyes. "Hermione," he whispered, watching a picture of Ginny at perhaps ten--her hair in pigtails and her nose splattered with mud--waving at him shyly. "Do I owe my mother a Life Debt, do you think?"  
  
Hermione stopped on the stair above him, considering. "I suppose you do, Harry. I imagine it would be rather difficult for you to know, since you've been obligated since you were barely one, and since, like Professor Snape, you owe it to her heir."  
  
Shaking his head, Harry touched a finger to the snapshot's frame. "I'm not sure how to live up to that one and do everything that needs to be done." His stomach made a noise, and the Ginny in the picture blushed and hid her face. This was the girl that he had first met. In the picture, Ron--also covered in mud--had appeared and seemed to be trying to tickle her.  
  
Hermione's hand gripped his elbow. "We'll make sure you're safe, Harry. That's our job." His stomach growled again. "Now let's get you downstairs before your digestive tract wakes the entire household."  
  
In relative quiet, they made their way toward Molly Weasley's domain: the kitchen. The plan was to cook breakfast and get her in a good enough mood that Harry could tell her about his plans after Bill and Fleur's wedding, as well as breaking the news that Hermione, Ron and Ginny would be following him. They would need to put Molly Weasley in a _very_ good mood.  
  
At the foot of the stairs, however, they stopped, struck by the smell of frying bacon and the scent of vanilla.  
  
"Blast," Hermione whispered. "Oh, well. It was a good plan."  
  
"We can still offer to lend a hand," said Harry. "Not that she'll let us."  
  
When they entered the kitchen, however, it was not Molly Weasley they found hard at work there. Rather, it was the two people Harry would have least expected to find making breakfast in the Burrow that morning--among his friends, in any case.  
  
Luna Lovegood was at a mixing bowl, vaguely prodding at some sort of batter with a wooden spoon. At the stove, Neville Longbottom was conducting simultaneous operations in three frying pans and a pot of chocolate with the authority and intensity of a master conductor. A teapot was nestled in a dragon-shaped cozy at his elbow.  
  
"Good morning, Hermione. Good morning, Harry," Luna said. "Is sex as nice as everyone says it is?"  
  
Hermione gave a sort of strangled cough in the middle of returning the greeting and Neville dropped an egg on the floor. "Luna?" Harry managed to splutter.  
  
"Well, is it?" she asked, looking frankly curious. "Even over the scone mix I can tell that you two have the same sort of smell that Samantha Fawcett is always wafting into our dormitory with. And you both have that smile like you've just been stung by Boravian Joy Bees. It wasn't with each other, was it?"  
  
" _NO,_ Luna, it wasn't," Hermione exclaimed in a tone of pure mortification.  
  
"Oh, good," Luna sighed, dumping the batter out onto a baking sheet. "How nice for Ginny and Ronald."  
  
Harry glanced at Neville, who was bright purple. "I can't smell anything but bacon, Harry," said the other boy, cleaning away the egg mess with a flick of his wand.  
  
"I didn't really think it was you, Hermione," Luna continued, using what looked like garden shears to slice the mound before her into wedges. "Those are Ginny's hands on Harry's chest."  
  
Self-consciously, Harry buttoned up his shirt--missing a hole or two--and walked over to the stove. "Need a hand, Neville?"  
  
"Sure. You take over the sausages and the potatoes, I'll finish the bacon and start the eggs. You know how to cook?"  
  
"Not magically," Harry admitted, "but I cooked breakfast for the Dursleys every morning from the age of eight on. Where did _you_ learn to cook?"  
  
Neville shrugged. "My gran doesn't believe in house-elf enslavement."  
  
"Good on her!" Hermione called from the table. She was helping Luna finish what were now clearly going to be scones. Her face was still blotchy, and she wasn't looking at her partner.  
  
"Yeah," Neville smiled. "She thinks a lot of S.P.E.W., by the way. Anyway, she was worried I'd turn out a Squib, I think, so she put me to work in the garden and the kitchen when I was still at home. The Fosters--that's the couple that work for her--taught me more than anybody except Professor Sprout. And you, of course, Harry."  
  
"Uh, thanks, Neville." Harry experimented with using a Levitation Charm to flip the sausages. It worked quite nicely. _Non-verbal spells and Occlumency..._  
  
"So," Neville whispered, peeking over at Harry even as he scrambled a bowl full of eggs with what looked to be some sort of Slicing Spell, "you and Ginny. _Was_ it nice?"  
  
A combination of shame, joy and world-conquering pride roiled inside Harry. "Yeah, Neville. It really was. Kind of scary, though, you know?" It was funny: Seamus and Dean had always been full of tales of exploits, real and (mostly) imagined--they had only bothered to whisper during the period that Dean had been dating Ginny, and Harry had found the whispers worse than the bragging. Ron had regaled them all with stories of Lavender's talents, which all of them could have done without. But Harry and Neville had never talked about girls---never.  
  
"Yeah," Neville said, eyes wide. "I mean, not really, but I think I would be terrified."  
  
Nodding, Harry added, "Yeah, but also that I really care for her." Stopping himself, he looked up. "Neville, it's all right with you that I'm together with Ginny, right?"  
  
His friend whitened briefly, but finally said, "Of course, Harry. You two are meant for each other. Anyone can see that." In a rush, he added, "And I never fancied Ginny."  
  
"Really? Not even fourth year?"  
  
Neville gazed at him for a second, mouth open. "What? Oh! You mean the Yule Ball? No, no." He poured the eggs into the skillet. "She and Hermione were just the nicest girls I knew. I had to ask someone, so I asked them."  
  
Harry felt as if there must have been some question that he was supposed to ask just then, but he couldn't think what it was, so he went back to shepherding the potatoes around the skillet.  
  
A whoosh of heat alerted Harry to the fact that Hermione had opened the oven door and placed the scones in to bake. "So, Neville, what are you and Luna doing here at six o'clock on a Thursday morning?" she asked, her embarrassment apparently forgotten.  
  
Neville's discomposure wasn't, however. "Um, Luna..."  
  
"It was Neville's idea, actually," Luna said from the table, where she had removed her necklace of butterbeer corks. "I firecalled him after the party--after you and Ginny disappeared, Harry--and I told him I thought that the three of you, or possibly the four of you, were going to be heading off to do something dangerous."  
  
"I said we should go too," Neville said simply. He still looked disconcerted, but his voice was steady.  
  
Luna was walking to the icebox. "So we are volunteering for duty."  
  
His stomach falling, Harry stared down into the sausages. He had meant to do this alone. Suddenly he was going to be accompanied not only by Ron and Hermione, but by Ginny, whose loss would destroy him, and by two friends whom he liked and trusted, but whose deaths would weigh on his conscience forever. "Luna, Neville... This isn't like the Order of the Phoenix. We're not going to be going after the Death Eaters and fighting them. I... There's something that Dumbledore showed me that I've got to do before I... That prophecy, Neville, the one that broke, it's about me after all--well, maybe you and me--and Dumbledore was the one who witnessed it. He showed it to me. No one but me can defeat Voldemort. And there are things I've got to do before I can make that happen." He looked to Hermione, but she merely nodded. "These two idiots, I can't seem to get rid of them. And Ginny... I tried, but she won't go away either. But _you_ two, Neville, Luna, you don't have to do this. It's crazy, it's dangerous, and we might all die in the dark somewhere, wiped out by some anonymous curse or some creature, and no one will even know. You don't have to do this. I won't let you."  
  
Neville looked at him, turning down the heat on the stove so the eggs wouldn't burn. "So you _are_ the Chosen One."  
  
" _YES!_ " Harry exploded. "Fine, yes, I'm the bloody Chosen One. I'm the one who's destined to destroy Voldemort or die trying. _NOT_ you two, do you understand? I will _not_ let you come along."  
  
With a clunk, Luna dropped four bottles on the table. "Last night, you said I was your friend."  
  
Again he looked to Hermione for assistance. Again she simply indicated that he should go on. "You _are_ , Luna. Both of you. Two of the best friends I've ever had. That's why I can't let you risk your lives--"  
  
"They're our lives, Harry," Neville said.  
  
"Harry, we will do anything that will help destroy Voldemort, " Luna said. "Although I may need to put my Snorkack research on hold."  
  
"Luna... You're not of age. Your father would never let you go."  
  
"Oh, we had quite a row about it last night. Almost fifteen minutes. My father and I never row. He agreed that I could go with you as what he called 'an embedded journalist.'" Luna blushed slightly, which was quite disconcerting--Luna never blushed. "I was rather surprised at first. I thought he meant I should go to bed with you, which even then I suspected that Ginny would object to. But he just wants me to write reports for the Quibbler. The Voldemort stories sell quite well, you see. Would you like a butterbeer, Harry?" She had already opened one for herself. Lifting it to her lips, she took a long swig.  
  
Harry nodded, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to--knowing he was agreeing to all of it. Luna brought the three other bottles over to the counter and opened them for Harry, Hermione and finally Neville.  
  
Breaking their fast on butterbeer and bacon, the four teens talked at the counter while the potatoes and eggs cooked and the scones baked. Harry told Luna and Neville about the prophecy, about what Dumbledore had taught him about Tom Riddle, and finally--with some assistance from Hermione--about the Horcruxes.  
  
Their reaction was not at all what Harry would have expected. Neville was quite sure that the One referred to in the prophecy was Harry, not him, and had no doubt that Harry was the one who would live in the end. Luna seemed to find it very amusing that Lord Voldemort was actually a half-blood--she resolved that that would be the subject of her first article for her father. And when Harry laid out Dumbledore's theory about the six Horcruxes, the two looked at each other and nodded.  
  
"What?" Harry asked. He had been certain that the two of them would have been as horrified and daunted by the whole project as he was; instead, they seemed more confirmed in their resolve than ever.  
  
Neville was transferring the eggs and sausages into magical warming trays alongside the bacon and potatoes. Luna flounced over to the table. "That sounds lovely, Harry," she said as calmly as if she were discussing picnic plans "Hermione, could you hand me a quill and ink?"  
  
"Of course," Hermione said, peering at the other girl curiously, taking the writing supplies from a drawer beside her. "Do you need parchment?"  
  
"What?" Luna asked, taking them from her. "Oh, no, thank you." She proceeded to write on her butterbeer cork, and then to string the cork onto her necklace.  
  
"Luna," Harry began, sure he would be sorry to have asked the question, "what are you doing?"  
  
"Don't you know what my necklace is?" she asked, peering at him as if he had grown an extra nose. "Each cork comes from a special day." She held the necklace up. "This one is from the time Daddy and I found a Unicorn while we were on a picnic in the woods on the far side of Stoatshead Hill. This is from the first meeting of the DA. This is the day Mummy died." She held up the last one, the one she had just added. "Today is special too. I want to remember it."  
  
"Oh," Hermione said. "I always supposed you wore it because you thought it looked pretty."  
  
Luna peered at Hermione, her wide forehead creased. "Do _you_ think it looks pretty?" She craned her neck and gazed down at the necklace. "Why would anyone care how something looks when they can't see it themselves?"  
  
Rescuing Hermione, whose mouth had flopped open, Neville coughed, "That's a good point, Luna. I can't say that I've ever understood that myself."  
  
Harry just looked at the blonde girl with the huge blue eyes. Talking to Luna was like looking at a jigsaw puzzle in its box. There was a beautiful picture in there somewhere, but sometimes you had to turn things around a bit to see what it might be. After a moment, he shook his head, and then asked, "Neville, Luna, you _heard_ what I was talking about, right?"  
  
"Of course," Luna sighed. "It's more or less what we expected when we came. Why else would you be trying to run away, unless you had something very important and dangerous to do?" She and Neville shared a glance and once again nodded together.  
  
"We figure you're great at Defense, Harry," Neville said earnestly, "But I'm the best at Hogwarts in Herbology, and Luna is the same in History and Divination. And we've proved we can stand with you in a fight. We know it's not school, but it seems like we've got something to add."  
  
Groaning, Harry muttered, "We really can't talk you out of this?"  
  
Luna smiled, first at Harry, and then at Neville, who took a deep breath and said, "No, Harry. No, I don't think you can."  
  
His heart thudding in his throat, Harry looked at them: Luna beaming dreamily, Neville biting his lip, and finally Hermione, who was giving him a grim smile. They were looking to him to lead them. If they died, it would be his responsibility. He had to make sure that all of them came home safely.  
  
Sensing his distress, Hermione said, "Thank you, both. We could really use your assistance."  
  
Harry nodded, and then walked over to help Neville with the last of the breakfast preparations. "So," he said once his voice had returned, as he flipped scones from a cooling rack into a basket. "You and Luna?"  
  
Neville stared at him, owl-like.  
  
From the table, Luna called, "Oh, no, Harry, Neville likes boys, not girls. Good morning, Mrs. Weasley. Good morning, Ronald, Ginny. We have breakfast ready."  
  
In the doorway, looking quite astonished, stood Ginny, Ron and their mother. Ginny and her brother were white-faced. Mrs. Weasley's expression was unreadable, but it definitely did not promise sunshine and happy days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Luna's scrapbook-cum-necklace comes from a fic by the wonderful Luna-centric author, Michelle_31a. I don't remember which one, but if you like the character of Luna, you should wander through them all. She has Luna's character down beautifully--before HBP came out, I found that I went to her fics to remind me of Luna's voice as I was writing more often than I did to OotP. ;-)


	5. At the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Weasley has some questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to aberforths_rug and jenorama (really!) for the beta!

Harry's insides were full again, but the thing that was in there this time didn't seem at all alive; it felt as cold, dense and heavy as one of Professor Trelawney's crystal balls. "G-good morning, Mrs. Weasley," he managed before words failed him.  
  
"Good morning, Harry, dear," Molly Weasley replied coolly, surveying the four visitors and the laden table.  
  
Harry gaped, trying to think how to begin. Ron was no help--ash-faced and dumb--and Ginny was clearly on the edge of tears. He turned to Hermione, who, bless her, fell back on protocol. "Mrs. Weasley," she said, "let me introduce--"  
  
"I've known Luna her whole life," Mrs. Weasley interrupted. "And Neville's parents were... _are_ Arthur and my best friends. It's lovely to see the two of you so early. In my kitchen."  
  
"We've made some breakfast," Luna said, her usual airy tone firmly in place. "Would you like some?"  
  
Turning toward the counter to show her the warming bowls, Harry realized that Neville was looking as stiff and as shocked as he had first year when Hermione had put him in a Full Body Bind. "Yeah," Harry said, trying not to make Neville's obvious discomfort worse, "Neville... that is, we made eggs and bacon, Luna and Hermione made the scones and there's chocolate and tea..."  
  
As Harry ran out of air, Mrs. Weasley looked closely at him, then at Neville. Finally, she surveyed the bowls and pots and platters. "Neville, you made most of this?"  
  
When his friend proved to be still speechless, Harry simply said, "Yes."  
  
"Ah," Molly Weasley murmured as she peered at the stove, the sink and the oven. "Well, dear, you can cook in my kitchen any time."  
  
Astonished, Harry glanced over Mrs. Weasley's round shoulder to Ginny and Ron, who both stared at the back of her head, slack-jawed.  
  
"Come along, children," their mother barked in a tone of comfortable command. "We don't want to let anything get cold or rubbery. Bring it to the table. Tea for me, please, Neville dear. And bring the sugar and the milk."  
  
They finished setting the table and arranged themselves around it. If it had been up to Harry, he would have placed himself as close to Ginny and as far from her mother as he could manage. But _somehow_ Mrs. Weasley managed to arrange it so that she was at the head of the table with her children and Luna on one side and Harry, Hermione and Neville on the other.  
  
At least Harry was seated across from her. As they passed the eggs around Ginny resolutely refused to meet his eyes. Perhaps if he reached out his foot...  
  
His toes snapped back almost before he recognized the large, fluffy slipper blocking his path as Molly Weasley's.  
  
The only sound as they ate was the clink of cutlery and the occasional slurp of tea or chocolate. Mrs. Weasley seemed to be enjoying the food enormously, but when she would look up from the plate, her face seemed as warm and expressive as one of Hagrid's scalier pets.  
  
Harry ate, but he didn't taste a thing.  
  
As Mrs. Weasley was spreading some lemon curd on a scone, Harry hazarded a glance across at Ginny. She flashed him a smile so small and quick that he could almost have sworn that he'd imagined it. Even so, that momentary grin lightened the weight in his gut enormously.  
  
 _I'm not ashamed_ , he thought as he finished the last of his chocolate, noticing for the first time that Neville had put something like cinnamon in it. Placing his mug on the table with a small, resounding thunk, Harry cleared his throat.  
  
Six pairs of eyes converged on him. Harry locked onto the brown, bright ones directly in front of him. "Mrs. Weasley," he said, and his voice sounded oddly high and distant to his own ear, "I've got something I need to say. What Ginny and I--" A pair of fine ginger eyebrows arched in surprise.  
  
Mrs. Weasley held up a hand. "Stop, Harry. I'm sure whatever you were going to say was very sincere, but I'm not sure I want to hear it."  
  
Harry's mouth sealed itself so effectively, he felt as if he'd eaten a full bag of Fred and George's Everstick Powder. He looked across at Ginny, who was now staring down at her plate, her pale skin half a shade pinker.  
  
After taking another sip of tea--she was on her third cup--her mother continued. "Arthur has already had a rather thorough conversation with our two youngest children here, and has ascertained that--whatever you may have gotten up to last night--none of you acted... _irresponsibly_." Now it was Molly Weasley's turn to blush, and she did a good job of it. "I happen to know for a fact that my own children, Luna and Hermione are all well acquainted with the spells and potions involved in... _family planning_. I know it because Arthur and I thought it important to train them ourselves. I think perhaps we have been remiss in not doing so for you, Harry, and for..." Her plump hands fluttered about her face. "Well, Neville dear, I'm not at all sure what I could tell _you_. Perhaps you should talk to Charlie..."  
  
"Charlie?" asked Ron. A quiet smack let Harry know that Ginny had hit him beneath the table.  
  
"The point, Harry dear--and Hermione and Luna and... Yes, well, Neville dear, it is still important that you hear this..." Neville now looked as if he wanted to go out and join the Gnomes in their holes in the garden. "The point is that reputation is a very funny thing. Boys' and girls' reputations are judged very differently. It shouldn't be like that, but it is."  
  
Again she swallowed some tea; the color in her face seemed to be evening out. "I married Arthur just after we left Hogwarts," she said, and the room was suddenly very still. "Bill was born eight months later."  
  
Harry didn't know much about human reproduction, but he knew enough to know what _that_ meant.  
  
"Before you jump to the same conclusion that _everyone else_ did, children, I want you to know that all of my other babies were born quite early. Not one got past thirty-six weeks. We had made a promise to each other not to... _do_ anything until we were married, and we stuck to that promise. But the damage was done, you see. All of our friends assumed we had been, you know, long before we left school. We'd told them we hadn't, but this gave that the lie in their eyes. Arthur was constantly being ragged by his friends in the Ministry, being told what a lucky man he was. And my friends... Like you, Ginny, I'd grown up with brothers. I had no idea how _cruel_ girls could be."  
  
She turned to Harry, and her eyes flashed--Harry had never noticed how much they resembled his girlfriend's. "I've watched this with my sons as well. A boy who has a way with girls, who _messes about_ a bit? He's a sport, a lad. The other boys look up to him, even if they would never say it to his face, and the girls think it very dashing that he's a bit naughty. But a _girl_? There are all sorts of names for girls who _mess about_ , many of them beginning with 'S', and none of them very nice."  
  
The weight in Harry's middle was settling heavily again and his own gaze dropped into his mug. _Slut. Slag. Scarlet...  
  
_ "Hermione, I know that Arthur spoke very seriously to our Ronald this morning," Ronald's mother continued. Ronald himself was once again turning a remarkable shade of tomato red. "I am sure he will have some things to add to _you_ , Harry."  
  
Harry felt his own face swell with anticipated shame.  
  
"But I want to make sure you understand just what I mean. Girls' reputations are ridiculously delicate things. Perhaps it is different in the Muggle world--Arthur is always going on about some thing called _women's rib_ or something like that."  
  
Hermione shook her head almost imperceptibly, but Harry could not be sure whether it was because Mrs. Weasley had butchered the name of a movement in which she believed passionately, or because she was asserting that things were not in fact terribly different in the Muggle world.  
  
Molly Weasley--the closest thing to a mother Harry had had since he was a baby--stared at Harry until cold sweat began to bead on his brow. "Harry Potter. Arthur and I trust you, as we trust our own children, to do the right thing. I do not ask you what you and Ginny were doing last night, because it is not my business and because... Well, as I said, I trust you. But I want you to swear to me that you would not and have not done anything to deceive my daughter. Because if I found that you have trifled with her, young man, I will track you down, wherever you may be. And you will _wish_ I had sent a Howler. You'll wish it had been You-Know-Who that found you. And then, once I am done, I will let Arthur and her brothers loose on what's left. Do you understand me, Harry?"  
  
He nodded. He could not meet her gaze.  
  
"Oh, I'm sure they were very careful last night," said Luna, her voice wafting up from the other end of the table. "Ginny has been practicing the Contraceptive Charms for weeks. I've been helping her. She really is quite good at them. None of us would ever say anything to hurt Ginny, because Hermione's really very careful about such things, and Ronald and Neville are both frightened of her, and she's my friend and who would I talk to about who she's having sex with other than her, and no one believes anything I say in any case, and she's marked Harry as hers, so he won't say anything either."  
  
A silence fluttered over the table as everyone--Luna included, probably--tried to work out just what she'd said.  
  
Slowly, all six faces turned back to Harry. Once again, his eyes were locked on Ginny's. "Harry," she said, her voice just above a whisper, "what did she mean, I _marked_ you?"  
  
"Ginny dear, I'm not sure--" Mrs. Weasley broke in, looking suddenly squeamish; Ron nodded desperately in agreement.  
  
"It's all right," Harry said, not to them but to his girlfriend, and, fingers trembling, he opened his shirt.  
  
The whites of Ginny's eyes showed wide and round. "I... did _that_?"  
  
Harry nodded. "Yeah. Just like the ones on your back."  
  
"But..." Ginny's face seemed just as at war with itself as Harry remembered his own being in the bathroom. "But I didn't save your life...."  
  
"Well, I don't know about that," Harry began, and it was an attempt at a joke, but even as he said it, he realized that she had in fact saved his life in any number of ways over the previous two years. Ginny's eyes--and her mother and brother's--were locked on the white, bird-shaped markings on his chest. "I... I don't think that's what this is about--or yours either. I think it's something different. I don't think the marks on your shoulders are about you owing me something. I think... They must be something I did to you. Something..."  
  
"What handprints?" Ron blurted out, and Harry felt Hermione's leg kick out at him. Poor Ron.  
  
Ginny looked at her mother, Neville, Hermione, and then Harry. Finally she sighed and turned back to Ron. "When Harry saved me at the end of first year, he left two handprints on my shoulder blades--white ones, just like those. Mum and Dad and I think they're signs of a life debt."  
  
Harry was about to speak when he felt Hermione squeeze his knee. "They're not," she said authoritatively. "Life debts leave no outward mark. This must be something different."  
  
"Then _what_?" Mrs. Weasley and Ginny hissed together, both staring at the middle of his chest.  
  
It took a great act of discipline not to yank his shirt closed again. "Um... I've been thinking about when I held you that way. It was when I helped you up. You were crying--you were terrified you were going to be expelled, and I..." He held his hands out, trying to remember the moment. "I lifted you up. And I... I don't remember thinking it in so many words, but I felt just what I was feeling, um, last night. That I would do anything to keep you from getting hurt. That I would do anything to make sure you... you weren't... _sent away_. From me."  
  
Ginny and Ron's mouths dropped open--they'd never looked so much like brother and sister. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw that even Luna looked astonished.  
  
"Wow," said Neville.  
  
"Five years ago." Ginny spoke slowly, testing each word. "You felt that _five years ago_ and it took you until this _May_ to actually _do_ something about it?"  
  
"I..." _I was twelve years old. I'd never felt anything like that in my life. I'd never been allowed to feel_ anything _at all. I'd never even had friends. No one had ever said they loved me and I'd never said it to anyone else. I..._ "I was a git."  
  
Ginny looked as if she were trying to be angry, but was too shocked to manage it.  
  
"Too right you were!" Ron said with a smirk. "Makes me look like less of a twit, that's for sure!"  
  
"Well," Hermione said, patting Harry's thigh, "at least Harry had the good manners to choose a practice girlfriend from _outside_ Gryffindor, so that Ginny only had to see them together from time to time, instead of spending his time imitating a lamprey in the common room every night."  
  
"I...!" Ron looked utterly abashed.  
  
"A lamprey?" Mrs. Weasley said, an edge in her voice. "Isn't that one of those disgusting sucking fish?"  
  
Hermione nodded primly.  
  
"Ronald Bilius Weasley! What poor girl were you making a spectacle of in the Gryffindor common room?"  
  
The other five teens answered in unison, "Lavender Brown."  
  
Luna continued, "Padma Patil said that her sister told her it was quite revolting. I was very sorry to hear that, Ronald, because I always thought that you would be a very good kisser."  
  
Ron goggled at her, then around at the rest of them. "Well, it's not like _she_..." But his mother's glacial expression reminded him just how the conversation had started and he closed his mouth more forcibly than Harry had ever seen him do when there wasn't food involved.  
  
"It's all right, Ron," said Hermione with a very small smile--which struck Harry as more than a little unfair, since she had been the one to land her boyfriend in trouble in the first place. "Lavender told me just before..." She frowned. "Just before the end of the year. She told me that your Venus and her Mars formed an improper trine, or something like that. She'd decided to console Dean instead. Their charts were perfectly balanced."  
  
"Oh, good," Ginny said, some of the old fire returning to her face, "I always felt sort of sorry that I dumped Dean so violently."  
  
 _I didn't_ , Harry thought--but he kept the thought to himself. "I think what I was trying to say, Mrs. Weasley," he said, "is that I'd rather kill myself than hurt Ginny. I promise."  
  
The older woman peered at him for a moment as he re-buttoned his shirt and then nodded. "I'll hold you to that. But that's not what I wanted to talk with you about."  
  
The warm, joyous feeling that had been stretching its wings in Harry's abdomen again suddenly abandoned ship, leaving a cold vacuum behind. "It... It's not?"  
  
"No, Harry, it is not." She rearranged herself in the chair, and Harry was reminded of a hen settling herself in her nest. "I did want to clear some of these issues up, but--as I said--Arthur and I trust you. And we trust Ginny. No, knowing that you and my underage daughter are _attached_ , knowing my youngest son and his... friend are close to you--not to mention, apparently, my goddaughter and the son of my oldest friends--and knowing that you have some task that you began with Professor Dumbledore but were unwilling to discuss with Professor McGonagall, what I wish to know is just where you plan to take my children--and these other children towards whom I feel all but a mother's care--after the wedding on Saturday."  
  
"I..." This was worse than the other talk. "She told you I wouldn't talk?"  
  
"Well of course she told me, Harry dear. Since Albus's death, after all, I am the head of the Order of the Phoenix."  
  
Really, this was too much. Harry knew it was rude to let his mouth flop open, but he couldn't help himself--nor could any of his friends, with the possible exception of Luna, who looked as if she were thinking about Blibbering Humdingers.  
  
"Mum?" Ginny started, but even she didn't seem up to the task of forming the question.  
  
"Well, children, it's not a job I would have chosen for myself, truly. But there was no one else for it. None of the younger members could be spared from their work, poor Emmeline--who was supposed to take the job--was killed and even if he weren't on assignment, Remus isn't able to help one week out of the month, a challenge I'm free of, thank Merlin. Hestia and Sturgis both have young children at home, and can't be counted upon to be available at a moment's notice, and he hasn't been the same since he was released from Azkaban, the poor man. Dedalus is just silly, always has been, the dear, Elphias is too old, Kingsley and Arthur and Tonks need to be able to keep up at least the _appearance_ of working for the minister, and Minerva was _never_ going to be able to take the job, poor dear, not if she was in deep mourning as we had assumed would be the case should Albus... disappear. Mun _dung_ us Fletcher... Well. I've been the Order's quartermaster, so I already knew most of the day-to-day details of keeping the Order operational, and after all, Ron, where _do_ you think you got your head for chess?"  
  
"Oh," Ron said.  
  
"Certainly not from Dad," muttered Ginny, and she and Harry shared another quick smile before her mother cleared her throat dismissively.  
  
"I won't have you speaking disrespectfully of your father, Ginny."  
  
"Yes, Mum," she said, but her eyes remained bright.  
  
"So, Harry, I ask my question again. Where are you taking these children?"  
  
"I... Mrs. Weasley..." Harry flashed on the memory of Molly Weasley lying weeping on the floor of Grimmauld Place, watching as the Boggart showed her one after the other of her loved ones dead and bleeding on the floor. "Please, Mrs. Weasley... If it were up to me, I would be doing this alone. I would never put Ginny or Ron or any of my friends in danger at all. This really is my responsibility, and I'm the one who has to see it through. But if I've learned anything in the last few years, it's that I'm nothing without my friends. I need their help."  
  
"And you don't need ours." Molly Weasley's eyes had a very Ginny-like cast to them again--but it was the look that frightened Harry the most, the one that let him know that he was at most two sentences from a full explosion.  
  
"It's not that!" he blurted. "Please, Mrs. Weasley, I'm not leading them against Death Eaters. We're not going to be heading off into battle or anything like that."  
  
"Then why can't you tell me?"  
  
"I..." He looked at Ginny, at Ron. They both shrugged. Beside him, Hermione sat very still, looking as uncomfortable as Harry felt. "I promised Professor Dumbledore that I wouldn't."  
  
"But you've told your friends," Mrs. Weasley said, that edge in her voice imperceptibly sharper.  
  
"I... He told me that I could tell Ron and Hermione..."  
  
"And Ginny? And Neville and Luna?"  
  
"They... They sort of made it impossible for me not to," Harry said miserably, knowing that his position was growing weaker and weaker.  
  
Mrs. Weasley leaned forward, until Harry could see the veins in the whites of her eyes. "I can do that too, young man."  
  
Harry gulped.  
  
"What if Professor Dumbledore told you that it was alright, Harry?" mused Luna, her voice sounding less misty than usual.  
  
"Luna," Neville whispered, "Professor Dumbledore is--"  
  
"Dead, of course," Luna said, a bemused smile rippling her features. "But Harry could speak to his portrait."  
  
"But school is closed," Hermione said, her brows furrowed tightly.  
  
"That goes without saying," Luna said. "Really Hermione, you usually don't say such silly things. No, I have his portrait at home."  
  
"You _do?_ " Harry said, gawking. "Why?"  
  
Now it was his turn to be favored with his pixilated friend's most dismissive stare. "Well, Harry, he _was_ my grandfather."  
  
It would have been funny if the whole situation hadn't been so serious; all five of the other teens performed a set of perfectly synchronized double takes, turning from Luna to Molly Weasley and back again.  
  
Luna sat beneath their collective gaze smiling beatifically. Mrs. Weasley said, a note of anxiety obscuring the anger that had been there just moments before, "They didn't make it widely known, but Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were... very close."  
  
Ron looked as though he'd just smelled one of Slughorn's fouler potions, while Ginny looked as though she'd just seen a unicorn.  
  
"They... came together during the fight against Grindelwald. Albus felt that acknowledging their relationship would endanger Minerva, and she... Well, you will all have noticed that she is a rather _private_ person."  
  
Beside Harry, Hermione nodded.  
  
"Argentia McGonagall--their daughter--was two years ahead of me at Hogwarts. Aggie met Ben Lovegood ten or fifteen years after school and we were both pregnant with daughters at the same time. I'm Luna's godmother. She was Ron and Ginny's."  
  
So many questions piled in to Harry's head that he wasn't sure he could even begin to sort them out.  
  
"He used to come when I was little and give me sherbet lemons," Luna said wistfully. "And other times, Professor McGonagall would bring me Ginger Newts." Her voice thickened and Harry sensed that she was thinking about her mother. "They both came to Mummy's funeral, of course. It was the first time they ever visited together. It was quite nice. And they apologized for not being able to acknowledge me, but I understood, it was all to do with Voldemort, since Daddy had told me that he wasn't really dead and they needed to protect me and Mum from him." Suddenly she smiled. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but since we're sharing secrets this morning, I get to have tea with them every Friday in Professor Dumbledore's rooms. Or I did." Though her tone darkened, the smile remained.  
  
"Luna," said Harry, reaching across to her, only to find Hermione's, Ginny's and Neville's hands stretching out to her as well. Ron looked utterly stricken, but even he was moved to pat her awkwardly on the shoulder.  
  
"Well," Luna said brightly, "Come along Neville and help me fetch the portrait. It's quite large."  
  
"But..." Harry tried to force his mind to work. "Luna, the portrait won't know--"  
  
"All wizarding paintings share the knowledge of the subject at the time of the most recent portrait." The words spewed from Hermione's mouth almost automatically. She blinked. "Do we know when the headmaster last sat for a portrait?"  
  
Shaking herself, Mrs. Weasley answered, "He had one made every year on his birthday--as a precaution, he said. So I presume the most recent one would have been finished in February."  
  
"That would have been after he started your... lessons, Harry," Hermione said. "And after you made your promise, yes?"  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
Luna leapt up and began pulling Neville towards the fireplace. Tossing in a large handful of Floo powder, she called out, "Hesperides House" and disappeared in a flash of green, soon to be followed by their friend.  
  
Harry sat, trying desperately to digest the events of the last hour--of the last day. A gentle tug on his hand pulled his awareness back into the room.  
  
"You okay?" Ginny asked, her warm, fine hand closing over his.  
  
Harry nodded again--but this time he meant it.  
  
"So Mum," Ron said, "does Neville get to cook in here because he's _gay_ , or what?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, I'd intended to wrap things up in this chapter, but had a bit too much to chew on--or rather, Molly did. :-)
> 
> So, one more chapter (featuring a conversation with Luna's grandpa) and an epilogue...


	6. Off and Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for one more conversation. Or two... Or...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to aberforths_rug as always for the wonderful beta-ness!

"Oh, for goodness sake, Ron! Sometimes I wonder how you manage to get through the day without being jinxed!"

"Oh, come on, Hermione! I waited until he left, didn't I?"

"It's that you were thinking it at _all_ , Ron..."

A combination of despair and amusement bubbled around Harry's chest as he watched his friends.

"Well," Ginny whispered in his ear, "I guess it wasn't all sexual tension after all."

Trying to swallow a snort, Harry found himself choking on his tongue.

"Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley snapped, her willingness to listen to Ron and Hermione's tennis match clearly at an end. "Neville's... sexuality has nothing to do with it. _Look_ at the kitchen!"

Along with his friends, Harry turned and stared at the counter and immediately knew what she meant--not that he was going to volunteer the answer. It was too much fun to watch Ron look absolutely lost.

"What?" Ron muttered. "It looks the way it always does."

" _YES_!" grumbled Molly Weasley. "It looks the way it does when _I_ cook. Not a single scorched pot burning the countertop. Not a broken plate. No flour on the floor or butter on the windowsill."

"Oh," Ron mumbled. Hermione ran a reassuring hand across his back; it seemed that some things changed after all.

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley said. " _Oh_. Now come along, Ronald. You wash these dishes. Your father will be down soon, and the twins, Bill and his bride to be are all going to want to eat off of _clean_ tableware. Since you didn't help make breakfast, you can help clean up."

"But...!" Ron spluttered, a finger lancing at his sister.

" _Now_ , Ron."

Ron stomped over to the sink, favoring Ginny with a look of pure loathing that he usually reserved for members of the Malfoy family.

"Come on, Harry," Ginny said, whispering again, her fingers dancing along his forearm. "I think Mum intends you and me to talk."

"Oh," said Harry.

"Yes," Ginny said, "oh." Taking him by the hand, she led him into the sitting room. Creaking let them know that others were moving on the first floor above.

Looking at his... At what? His girlfriend. His lover? His lady fair? She was Ginny, and that's what he most wanted her to be. Her eyes were both bright and shy and he couldn't stop himself; he leaned forward and kissed her.

"Harry," she mumbled against his lips after a moment, "please don't start, or that whole thing about Mum and Dad trusting us is going to be tossed right out the window."

"Don't think I can restrain myself?" Harry asked, though he truly wasn't sure himself.

Her lips moved against his ear, setting off wet flares. "Who said anything about _you_?" Harry shivered and--with great difficulty--moved just slightly back from her, not enough to break contact but enough to allow for the passage of air. Her face was dark and fierce, and he knew now what danger and delight that that look promised.

They each took a deep breath, and it was as if a charm had been dispelled. Once again they were simply two teenagers, standing in a shabby sitting room.

"So," Harry said, "your dad...?"

Ginny nodded and raised a hand to her mouth. "It was horrible, Harry."

"Oh," Harry said, and felt a terrible pang of sympathy.

"Yeah, I don't know who was more embarrassed to be going through the whole inquisition, Dad or Ron. Neither one of them could get a complete sentence out, and _I_ sure wasn't going to open my mouth."

" _There's_ Fred and George's sister!"

"No, no, Bill's. He's the one who taught me that the best way to stay out of trouble is to sit quietly, nod and look innocent. The twins couldn't pull that off in a million years."

"Oh." Harry looked at her, and said into her hair. "I'm sorry I got you into trouble with your mum and dad, Ginevra."

Her voice sounded both annoyed and amused when she answered. "Trouble? You think _that_ was trouble?" She backed away from him. "Harry, there's nothing in the world I'd trade for what happened last night."

"Me either."

"Good."

"You're stuck with me."

"Good."

A rumble of conversation burst from the kitchen. It was with greatest reluctance that Harry tore his eyes, lips and hands away from Ginny to see if Luna and Neville had returned.

Fleur and Bill were walking to the table, their bodies touching at so many points that they looked as if they had been cemented together. Knowing Fred and George, that wasn’t out of the question. Bill’s mother— looking no longer like a field general, but an indulgent mother—arranged places for them at the table while Neville replenished the chocolate. Ginny's dad shuffled towards the sitting room, looking terribly serious and thoroughly nervous. "Harry," Mr. Weasley said, "I was wondering if I might have a word."

"Anything you've got to say to Harry, you can say to me, Dad," Ginny said, clutching Harry's elbow.

"Ginny," Harry murmured, running a hand up her back; he felt her shiver. "I think I'd like a word alone with your dad, too."

She peered at him, mouth slightly agape. "Well, will wonders never cease? Harry Potter, wanting to talk with somebody about something personal. Fine, gentlemen," she said as she sashayed out of the room, "I'll leave you to it."

Both men watched her leave, shook their heads in unison, and looked at each other. Arthur Weasley led Harry towards the pair of battered armchairs in the back corner and gestured for him to sit. Peering down at Harry, adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat, Mr. Weasley looked on the verge of asking Harry something when he apparently lost the nerve and began to pace.

Beginning to fidget at the older man’s obvious discomfort, Harry said, "Mr. Weasley, I know you've got some things you need to tell me--need to _ask_ me--but I have something I'd like to ask you. Would you...? Maybe, if you sat down?" He indicated the chair beside his.

White-faced, Mr. Weasley nodded and collapsed into the chair. "Of course, Harry. What can I do for you?"

Harry took a deep breath and looked at the sweet-natured man across from him. He had had only one truly personal conversation with Mr. Weasley, and that had been a warning about Sirius. Yet he felt he trusted and knew this man as well as any adult wizard alive--aside perhaps from Remus Lupin. And Hagrid, of course. "Mr. Weasley, I know you have some things you need to talk to me about, but maybe this will answer some of your questions..." Taking another breath, staring at a spot on Mr. Weasley's work robes that Mrs. Weasley had mended, Harry said very quickly, "When this is all over, when Voldemort is gone, may I have your permission and Mrs. Weasley's to ask Ginny to marry me?"

Mr. Weasley's mouth dropped open and his eyebrows shot up towards his distant hairline. "I... That is... Well, yes, that does rather answer most of my questions, I suppose. Do I need to talk through the whole Giants-and-Jarveys thing, Harry? I mean—”

_Oh, lord_. “No, sir, I think I’ve got a pretty good idea about all of that.”

“Ah, good. I’ve done that with my sons, but I must admit I really wasn’t looking forward to having to run you through that. I suppose, if you have any questions, Ginny could...” Suddenly, Mr. Weasley looked up at Harry; each of them blushed and removed his glasses. “Well, I mean,” Ginny’s father muttered.

Harry nodded emphatically.

“Good. I must tell you, Molly and I want grandchildren, but we really aren’t hoping for any in the _near_ future. You understand?"

Again, Harry nodded.

Arthur Weasley removed his glasses and frowned. "But are you certain, Harry? You're... Well, you're both awfully young."

Harry wasn't certain. He wasn't certain of _anything_ aside from the fact that he loved Ginny, that he loved Ron and Hermione--and Luna and Neville, and Ginny's family--even if it wasn't in quite the same way. That he would do anything to pay Voldemort back for what he'd done to Harry's family, to wizarding society, and that he'd do anything to keep the people he loved safe. That for the last year, it had been Ginny's face that Harry had seen as he fell asleep. That she had burned herself into his heart long before she had burned her hands into his flesh. That he knew. He nodded. "Yeah. I'm as sure as I suppose I could be. If anything were to happen to Ginny, I don’t know how I could live, that's a fact. I know we're young, but I don't see that changing."

The older man pursed his lips and looked at Harry, and then nodded. "I understand."

"And... Were you and Mrs. Weasley any older?"

Mr. Weasley smiled. "No, Harry, we weren't, not much. Molly and I promised each other we'd get married in our sixth year, so we were younger even than you. And your parents married straight out of school for that matter." With a sigh, Mr. Weasley concluded, "It's these awful times. It seems terribly hard to wait, I think, not knowing if there really is going to be a _later_."

Harry nodded.

"Then yes, son. I'll talk with Molly, but I think I can speak for both of us. When this... mess is all finished with, it would make us both very happy if you would ask our daughter to marry you. Ginny has made it very clear how she feels about you. Molly's wanted you in the family since the day she saw you, and _that's_ a fact. And I'd be honored to count you among my sons." Taking a deep breath, Arthur Weasley stood. "Well, that wasn't so hard after all. I'm sure there was more that I needed to talk with you about, but that covers the most of it, I think. If I remember anything else, I know where you'll be, don't I!"

"Yeah," said Harry. _For the next few days, anyway._

"Oh, there you are, Harry," said Luna, dragging Neville and a large, flat, blanket-covered object that Harry assumed was Professor Dumbledore's portrait into the sitting room.

Ginny followed them, waving her arms. "Uh, Luna, I think they wanted a moment--"

"We've finished, I think," said Mr. Weasley, standing and clapping his hands together cheerfully.. "Now, I hear you lot made an excellent breakfast, and I'm famished..." And off he wandered toward the kitchen.

As Luna and Neville set the painting up, Ginny peered at Harry, eyes half-closed, lips pursed.

"What?" asked Harry.

"That was awfully quick," Ginny said, her tone deceptively flat. Knowing Ginny as well as he did, Harry was sure that something was bothering her.

"Uh, we understood each other," he said, and it was the truth. Or close enough.

"Right," Ginny said, one eyebrow arching slightly.

"Ah! Harry! What a pleasure to see you again, my boy! Luna, Mr. Longbottom, Miss Weasley!" Dumbledore's voice was strong and vibrant, and it made Harry's heart stop. Whipping around, Harry saw the headmaster's portrait, and it brought tears to his eyes--this was the Albus Dumbledore that Harry had met twice in the Pensieve: auburn-haired, and dressed in robes of deep plum that managed to look quite dashing. "It's very nice to see you all--and an added pleasure to see a new room--something a portrait so rarely gets to do! I take it we are at the Burrow?"

"Yes, sir," said all four teens as one.

"Excellent. My only sorrow is that I cannot partake of any of Molly's excellent cooking--I heard your father just now; I do hope that your mother is well, Miss Weasley?"

"Yes, sir," Ginny said, looking every bit as dry-mouthed as Harry felt.

"Do you know, Ginny," said Dumbledore, eyes glittering, "I went to school with the _last_ 'Miss Weasley.' She was very nearly as pretty as you, and almost as headstrong."

"I..." Ginny blinked. "Thank you sir. I think."

"You are very welcome, I'm sure," Dumbledore responded, smiling blithely. "Now, my granddaughter here has told me something of your conversation and your plans. I must say I am very proud of all of you."

Again the assembled teens murmured in unison. "Thank you, sir."

"However, there are some things that I believe Harry and I need to discuss in private. Would the three of you mind allowing us a moment?"

Ginny pulled an exasperated face, Luna simply smiled, and Neville shrugged. Harry realized he had hardly heard his friend speak in the past hour. "Wait... Before you go... Um, Neville, I wanted to apologize..."

The color began to rise in Neville's face again. "No, Harry--"

"Neville, really. We... I shouldn't have reacted like such an idiot when Luna told us... you know." Watching his friend squirm, Harry pressed on. "It wasn't because you're gay, Neville. It's because I've known you six years and I've never realized. That's what I wanted you to know."

"Oh," Neville muttered.

"Harry's right, Neville," Ginny said, placing a hand on the boy's arm. "We think it's great that Luna told us. Really. Don't we, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said, and realized even as he did so that it was true: he was uncomfortable, since he'd never known a gay person--or rather, had never known that he knew one--and didn't know how to behave. But Neville was a friend, and a good one. "Um... So... Got a... boyfriend?"

Neville's mild brown eyes flashed up, a look of alarm wide across his face. "No. No, Harry." He looked back down and shuffled. "Nobody outside the group to distract me from what we've got to do."

"Oh," Harry said, and found it odd that Neville's lack of a partner actually saddened him. "Doesn't it... Luna, you too--don't you feel funny going off on this ridiculous thing we're doing with two couples?"

"Oh," Luna said, her smile more crooked than usual, "I think it's lovely. I don't have a personfriend either, it's true, but I really can't imagine five people I'd rather be with, or anything that's more important to do."

Neville nodded, his bright eyes focused on Harry's chest.

"Well... Great. I guess..." Harry understood what Luna had said, which was remarkable in and of itself. Even so, he felt ill at ease. "Look, if we're making you uncomfortable or anything, let us know."

"All right, Harry," said Luna.

"Yeah," Neville said with a quick nod, "um, as long as we don't have to, you know, see, anything... Like Ron and Lavender..."

The Gryffindors all grimaced, then laughed nervously.

"Come along, Ginny, Neville," Luna said, taking each of them by the hand, "my grandfather wants to speak to Harry."

As she was being led away, Ginny cast Harry one more uneasy grin.

Harry turned back to the portrait, taking in the familiar, grandfatherly smile, the indulgent expression. Thinking only that he would start by asking about the Horcruxes, he wasn't ready for his tongue to seize up and his eyes to overflow the minute he tried to speak.

"Ah," said the portrait. "Yes, everyone I talk to these days seems to have that reaction. I'm terribly sorry, Harry; I can't even offer you a toffee."

" _I'm_ sorry, Professor," Harry blubbered. "I c-could have saved you and I d-d-d--"

"Harry, would it help you to know that I was already living on borrowed time? That the curse upon Marvolo Gaunt's ring had sentenced me to death, and that I would not have been able to live even this long? That I would have been dead before I gathered you up at your aunt's house, were it not for the commendably quick work of Professor Snape?"

A cold fist closed around Harry's chest. " _Him_? He _killed_ you, Professor! He betrayed you! How can you say that about a murdering cow--"

"Do not mistake Severus Snape for a coward, Harry. He is many, many things, some of them mutually contradictory, but he is not nor never was craven." In his frame, the young-ish Dumbledore held up his hand. "Harry, even now I cannot tell you why I trusted--and trust--Severus Snape. Some secrets are not mine to tell. But you know enough to know that he was compelled to act as he did. I was perfectly aware that this was so--that he had been tricked into making an Unbreakable Vow. Do you not think that I had at least as good a reason to trust him as I did to fear him?"

The ice in Harry's heart did not thaw, but he saw the logic in what the headmaster was saying. Even if he didn't want to admit it. "I hate him," he muttered. "He should have died himself before he even thought of killing you! _He's the reason that Voldemort killed my parents_!"

"Yes," Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, he was. And it is an act that I assure you he regrets daily. We all carry regrets, Harry. You now know my greatest regret--greater even than leaving you with those dreadful relatives of yours. If you will condemn Severus for acting wrongly if ignorantly, then you must do the same to me. What do you think of a man who never acknowledged his only daughter? Who never was able to proclaim his miraculous granddaughter to the world? Minnie made a choice to have Argentia even though we were both embroiled in a war--even as you are embroiled, Harry. And she asked me to remain silent. She did not wish my notoriety to endanger the child, nor for the child to become a danger to me. I was an old man, even then, Harry," the figure said, gesturing to himself, to the wisps of grey in his beard. "And I was deeply in love with a beautiful, strong-minded young woman--and so she was, and is, Harry, please let me assure you. I willingly allowed her to distance herself from me so that she and our child might be safe. Do you condemn _me_ , Harry?"

Shame blossomed into Harry's face as he remembered his conversation with Ginny at the headmaster's funeral. "No sir, of course not."

Paint though they were, it felt as if the portrait's eyes were boring into Harry. "Then do not condemn Severus Snape out of hand, my boy. His motivations are peculiar and his manner more so, yet the man acts out of his own brand of honor. Do not judge too hastily."

Harry's jaw clenched on the words, yet he managed to speak them. "Yes. Sir."

With a brief nod and a sigh, Dumbledore continued. "Good. I know I ask much of you, yet there is no one else to ask. Love does make us do the strangest things, Harry..." Before Harry could ask what he meant, the portrait shuddered. "Minnie--Professor McGonagall and I remained close, I believe, until the moment of my death. And yet by sacrificing our love to our cause--and for our daughter's safety--we lost much of the intimacy that we had once had. Do not make such a mistake, do you understand me?"

The intensity and sincerity of the old man's tone shook Harry deeply. "No, professor. No. I won't."

"Good." A twinkle returned to the painting's bespectacled eyes. "Now, I do not think that you had my little lunar butterfly haul this hunk of canvas through the Floo to talk about Severus Snape and lost loves. What may I do for you, my boy?"

"No, sir." _Where to start?_ Staring up at the face to which he had looked so often for answers, Harry now struggled even to contain the questions. He took a long steadying breath. "I... I broke a promise last night, sir."

"Did you, my boy?"

"Yes, sir. You had said that I could tell Ron and Hermione about Tom Riddle and the Horcruxes, but not to tell anyone else. And... Last night I told Ginny--"

"Did you, now?" said the portrait, apparently quite pleased. "May I ask, Harry... I do not have all of the facilities for gathering information that I had when I was flesh and blood, Harry; it is most annoying. However, before my most recent portrait was taken, I had become quite aware that you had developed certain feelings for Miss Weasley. Was I correct?" Harry nodded. "And did you finally act upon those feelings?" Another nod. "Ah! Excellent. I hope I collected from Minnie; she bet quite heavily that you never would."

"She... What?"

"Oh, yes. We had a small pool going--Remus, Minerva, Alastor and I. She bet that neither you nor Mr. Weasley would ever--how did she put it?--'remove your thumbs from your posteriors' and confront the ladies that you so clearly admired. Remus, the old romantic, was convinced that the four of you would be paired off by the end of last summer. Moody--who also has a terrific soft spot for romance, though he'd never admit it--believed that Mr. Weasley would admit his feelings for Miss Granger by Christmas, but that it would take dragons to haul you and his sister together. And I bet that you and young Ginevra would find your way to each other before the end of the school year, but that her brother and Miss Granger would take a bit longer. So, how did I do?"

Harry gave a small grin; he did not want to know what sort of wager the headmaster and Professor McGonagall might have had going. "You did quite well, sir."

"Oh, good." A blush came over the headmaster's face, and Harry now knew that he _really_ didn't want to know anything more about the wager.

"Well, sir, the thing is, I told her about the Horcruxes last night. Ginny. And I told Neville and... and your granddaughter this morning. But Mrs. Weasley and Professor McGonagall both asked me what you and I had been... About the Horcruxes. And I didn't think I could tell them, sir. Because..."

"Because they came to you, not as friends and allies, but as representatives of the Order of the Phoenix, the organization that I headed, but which I had not told about Tom Riddle's plans."

"Yes, sir."

"My, my. First of all, Harry, I think you have shown excellent judgment in choosing those whom you _have_ told about the Horcruxes. The three to whom you have extended your trust have earned it fully, and more than once, have they not?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, and for a moment he saw Neville's face, bloodied not once but twice in battles against Death Eaters. Saw Luna's fierce determination at the Department of Mysteries and her compassion after Sirius's death. Ginny's blazing eyes. "Yes, sir."

"As to Molly and Minerva... Harry, I think you're instincts are good. But if it were not for your promise to me, would you be feeling such qualms?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry considered the headmaster's question. If not for the promise... "No, sir. That is, yes, I think I would still be feeling as nervous. Because I don't want too many people knowing this--it's dangerous for them and I'm worried that if word gets back to Voldemort or even to the Ministry what I'm up to, then..."

The portrait's smile was just as wide, but the eyes were harder now. "Yes, Harry. Precisely. I understand. The longer you act in secrecy, the greater the odds of your finding the Horcruxes and destroying them before Voldemort can act to stop you." The figure steepled its fingers before its bearded mouth. "Perhaps if I spoke with Molly? I could tell her in general terms what you are up to--tell her that you are hunting enchanted objects that would aid in the destruction of Voldemort. That you need to move as quietly as the Boy Who Lived can move, that you are the person who needs to gather these objects, and that your friends' talents are admirably suited to assisting you."

Harry thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, sir. That would be really helpful. Do you think she'll understand?"

"Ah," sighed Dumbledore, "Molly has an excellent grasp of strategic necessity. She does not always like what she sees, but she sees remarkably clearly."

"Then yes, sir, I think that would be a big help."

"Good. Once you and I have finished our other orders of business, I would like you to send her to me, then."

"Other orders of business, sir?" Harry had been feeling a mixed sense of relief and regret that his conversation with the late headmaster's simulacrum was drawing to a close.

"Well, of course, Harry. There are some other questions that I rather expect you would want to ask me, are there not?"

"Oh!" New relief was mixed now with embarrassment. "Of course, sir." He ran his fingers through his hair. "The Horcruxes. How do I find them? Once I've found them, how do I dispose of them? How do I avoid any curses they may have on them, or potions or traps or creatures that have been set to guard them? How do I keep Ginny and Ron and them safe?" He began haltingly, but once he got started, it all came out in a rush.

The portrait smiled. "Yes. The very questions I had anticipated that you would need to ask. As it happens, I have answers for all of those, though not necessarily answers that will satisfy you fully, I'm afraid."

With a shrug, Harry said, "I understand, sir."

"In the first place, it will not perhaps surprise you that I kept rather voluminous notes concerning my researches on Tom Riddle and Horcruxes. Knowing that I was dying--and knowing that I would not want anyone but you, Harry, to have access to those notes once I did in fact pass on to the next great adventure--I secreted them at Hogwarts in a spot I thought it likely only you and I would think of." The portrait leaned back, a satisfied smile firmly in place.

Harry searched his mind for a suitable hiding place, but none sprang to mind.

"Would it help, Harry, if I said that this particular hiding place was one of my cleverer ideas, and that--if I do say so myself--that's saying something?"

"The mirror!" Harry gasped. "You've hidden it in the Mirror of Erised!"

"Oh, well done, Harry. You did remember, even after all of these years. Yes, it is within the mirror that my notes on the Horcruxes and their likely locations are deposited."

"But sir," Harry said, "that's great, but where is the _mirror_?"

Again, Dumbledore favored him with a pleased-looking grin. "Now, Harry, if you truly _required_ a special hiding spot at the school--preferably one not far from the headmaster's office--don't you think there would be only one place to do so?"

"Oh! The Room of Requirement!"

"Yes, Harry. It is ironic, I suppose, that--as Minerva tells me--my own downfall involved that selfsame room. Yet I cannot but delight in that remarkable chamber. And it does indeed serve as an excellent place for secreting the most unlikely of objects. Bottles of sherry. A rather embarrassing wig, or a failed experiment in magical creature breeding, perhaps. A textbook?"

"Oh," said Harry again, only now with considerably less verve.

"Yes, Harry. _Oh_. That afternoon, as it happens, I watched you stow your book--or rather, Professor Snape's book--in that old cupboard. And I found that it explained quite a bit about your behavior this past year."

"Oh," Harry muttered. "I'm sorry, sir."

"For what, dear boy?" chuckled the portrait. "You have never shown yourself to be precisely bound by an overly rigid sense of law-abidingness; indeed, I am afraid that you and Mr. Weasley have been a far greater influence on Miss Granger than she on you in that respect. No, Harry, I do not condemn you for not revealing the source of your newfound Potions acumen. Indeed, I am aware that you were due every bit of leeway when it came to Potions, since you have received less than encouraging tutelage in that subject. No, I was speaking more to your relative distance from Mr. Weasley and, especially, from Miss Granger this past year. I had worried that it was due to something a great deal more serious than academic competition. And it was not merely my bet, nor Mr. Weasley's rather extravagant courting display towards Miss Brown that made me concerned."

"It was that sir--Hermione didn't like that I was doing better than her in class, and Ron was jealous that Professor Slughorn seemed so keen on me but couldn't remember his name. It was also because I was so obsessed with finding out what Malfoy was up to, when they thought it was nothing. But I think I was also beginning to realize just how dangerous the tasks ahead of me were, and I didn't want anyone--Ron, Hermione or Ginny for that matter--hurt because of it."

"Harry, no one understands that impulse better than I do, I promise you. But I assure you as well that pulling away from those we love in order to save them does a disservice to their love, and to your responsibility."

"I know that now, sir." Harry glanced around and peered out the entrance to the kitchen. Ginny was laughing with Luna, Fred and George. "I don't like it, but I do understand."

"Ah, my boy, do not be too hard upon yourself. It is a lesson we all must learn over and over again, the alternatives being to cease to live, or to cease to love. And Tom Riddle is an object lesson in the dangers of _that_ choice, I believe." A hand stroked a painted beard. "Harry, you cannot protect those that you love, though it does you credit to want to. Argentia... My daughter. Do you know how she died?"

Harry shook his head. "Luna told me she was experimenting with a spell."

"Yes, Harry. She was a quite gifted Defense researcher--she worked in the Department of Mysteries attempting to find counter-spells for the Unforgivable Curses. She died seeking to perfect a shield against the _Avada Kedavra_ , using your own survival as a basis for her research." The portrait loosed a long sigh. "She was killed, in fact, attempting to fight the very evil that her mother and I had attempted to shield her from. It was an irony that both Minerva and I appreciated keenly, I promise you."

"I'm so sorry, sir." Harry tried to imagine losing a daughter; Molly Weasley's weeping face filled his mind's eye.

"What I am trying to say, Harry, is that she died fighting for what she--and we--believed in. And she would rather have lived, I know, but she would not have changed her choices, this I know too." Dumbledore gave a small smile. "What I suppose I'm truly trying to tell you, Harry, is that the best love that you can show is to allow those you love to love you too--and to act as they needs must act. You have at your disposal as excellent a team of young witches and wizards--and friends--as you could possibly want."

"I understand, sir. I think." Boy and portrait nodded solemnly to each other. "I just have two more questions, sir."

"Yes, Harry?"

"The first, I'm... Well, it'll be easier just to show you, I think." Fingers trembling, he went to unbutton his shirt. _Why am I nervous about showing a painting my chest?_

"Oh, my." The grey-and-ginger brows of the portrait flew up beneath his thatch of auburn hair. "Quite impressive. I assume that that remarkable set of markings was made by Miss Weasley? You are aware, I suppose, that she has a matching set upon her--"

"Her shoulders, yeah," Harry muttered quickly; he knew that Ginny had not told the headmaster, and didn't want to think too deeply about how much the professor might know about his girlfriend's skin. "The thing is, sir, the Weasleys have thought since that whole mess with the diary that the handprints were the mark of a Life Debt that she owed me."

"Oh, did they now!" The headmaster was back in fine form, eyes twinkling, a smile causing the edges of his mouth to disappear under the tips of his impressive mustache.

"But Hermione said that Life Debt doesn't have any outward mark, that these couldn't be that..."

"A very clever, well-read witch, Miss Granger. Yes, Harry, she is correct. Your marks are not the signs of a wizard's debt, neither yours nor Miss Weasley's. They are extraordinarily rare, young man, rare and beautiful as phoenix song, but they are not unheard of. To my knowledge they do not have a name, these marks, but they do denote a deep bond, something deeper than any debt. I see that this does not surprise you."

Again Harry's gaze strayed to Ginny. She was talking with George, but her eyes were on him. She gave him a smirk that clearly said, _Go ahead, Potter. Open your shirt again. Show **everyone** you're **mine**._ "No, sir. I don't think it does. I think, without realizing it, I marked her down in the Chamber of Secrets, and now she's done the same to me."

"Ah! Good! Well done, Harry. You've worked out the causality of it. Not many do. It is easy to see the marks as a sign of the bond on the one bearing them, when in fact they are more in the way of a promissory note, if you will forgive my return to the language of debt and commerce."

"You mean... They're about something I promised her in the Chamber? And she promised me last night?" Harry furrowed his brow. "But..."

"But you were not aware that you had made any such promise at the time. Yes, Harry." The headmaster gave a quick smirk. "Of course, I was aware of it, knowing as I did the nature of lovely set of openhanded markings that you had left upon Miss Weasley--which is why I wagered upon you as I did. Gambling is one thing. A sure thing is another." The portrait's expression became serious again. "Harry, no one knows quite what causes these marks to appear, nor has anyone been able to identify whom they will appear upon. Is it a sensitivity in the person who gives, or who receives? Is it a particular electricity between them? You and Miss Weasley are the third couple that I have known to be so marked, however, and I will tell you this: it always happens to both members of the couple--perhaps not at once but eventually, each member of the pair will mark the other; and it always marks a bond not only of passion, but of _com_ passion. The first is a very necessary ingredient in bringing a couple together, it is true--especially a young couple--but the second is essential in keeping them together. I need not ask you whether you would die for Miss Weasley or she for you, since it is self-evident, even without the handprints that you each bear."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, and a heat rushed through him as he considered all that the headmaster had just told him. "Do you mind my asking, sir? But, um, _who_ were the other couples?"

"Your parents, of course, were one. Your father's marking looked like a rather jagged letter S."

Involuntarily, Harry's hand flew up to his scar.

"Yes, Harry. Evidently, both were your mother's doing. As to the other couple... Well, I am afraid that modesty forbids my showing you my handprints--or informing you where Professor McGonagall bears hers. But I assure you she bears them still."

The excited heat that had been flowing through Harry all seemed to rush to his face as he tried desperately not to think about how hard it would be to look the headmistress in the face the next time he saw her. "Oh. Thank you, sir." _Time to change the subject_. "Just one more question, sir. How did you know Hermione and Ginny wouldn't be the ones to act?"

Dumbledore's smile broadened. "Ah, Harry, but they had. Very clearly and more than once. It was then a question of when and if you and Mr. Weasley would find yourselves ready to reciprocate. In Minerva's words, _to pull your thumbs out of your posteriors_. And I am very pleased that you have both seen fit to do so. More pleased than I can say."

"Uh, I'm glad sir." Harry gazed at the kindly, painted face for a moment and realized that, truly, there was nothing left for them to say, and that saddened him. _Well, one more thing to say, I suppose_. "I... I miss you, professor."

The portrait regarded him for a long moment, the edges of its mouth turning slowly down, the eyes no longer twinkling quite so brightly. "Ah, Harry. As someone who saw almost seven generations come and go, I know the feeling all too well. I am sorry that I cannot be at your side as you prepare yourself for the battle to come. I am sorry that I will not see you continue to blossom from the lovely, brave young man that you have always been to the remarkable wizard that you are destined through your own actions to become. But know, Harry, that as much as I have stepped to the other side of that veil, what I told you five years ago nonetheless holds true: _help will always be given to those who ask for it_. Those who loved you in life have never abandoned you, my boy. Nor _will_ we. Now," said Dumbledore, rubbing his hands together, "I believe it is time that Molly Weasley and I had a little chat."

Harry nodded, murmured a quick goodbye and walked towards the kitchen.

By some intuition, Mrs. Weasley had stationed herself immediately outside the sitting room, and passed Harry with a quiet touch to his shoulder when he told her that the portrait wished to speak with her.

Taking a deep breath, Harry gazed into the kitchen. The twins were listening to Luna with clearly exaggerated seriousness. Bill looked lost in bliss as Fleur brushed out his hair, and Ron was speaking to Hermione in the kind of hushed, intent tones that he usually reserved for discussions of Quidditch strategy. Hermione looked torn between joy and tears, as did Neville, who was talking with Charlie, while Mr. Weasley sipped at his tea and read _The Daily Prophet_. In the center of the table sat Ginny, still staring at Harry, her hair wild around her shoulders, her eyes blazing, and the light of the hidden handprints on her shoulders--of the small marks and nicks that he knew that he had left elsewhere on her body as she had left some upon his--sang through him and the creature within Harry trumpeted out, and its song was glorious and filled him and the room with a beautiful and unearthly sound that soared beyond his senses and yet seemed terribly close, and terribly familiar. Harry's vision swam, and he cleared his glasses.

Fine, warm fingers found the spot on his shoulder that Mrs. Weasley had touched just a moment before; a red flame burst blurrily into the scope of Harry's vision. As he put his glasses back on, he saw Ginny's small, fierce face peering up into his. "Okay, Harry?"

"Yeah," he said, and a smile seemed to overcome his whole body. "Yeah, I'm fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And so ends "Monster," the one-shot that wouldn't die!
> 
> ~~I do have an epilogue that I plan to write, but~~ (Written!) Most of the main plotlines and theory stuff that I wanted to touch on are all tied up here--I hope. I also hope that you didn't find Professor Dumbleore too chatty--the old boy certainly can talk! And I certainly hope the major-chord-raise-it-an-octave-march-toward-the-audience coda wasn't too much... ;-)
> 
> This has been only lightly beta'd; I'll be incorporating changes, but I wanted to get this up and revel in the satisfaction of having finished it. If you see anything that you feel ought to be changed, just let me know! And thanks for reading.


	7. Beyond the Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don't always turn out the way you expect them to...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet serves two purposes: it's my entry in the hpgw_otp Colors of the Rainbow challenge (my Crayola© color is Red-Orange); it's also the epilogue to my never-ending one-shot, Monster. I think it can be read independently, but wouldn't discourage you from reading the rest! ;-)
> 
> Thanks to aberforths_rug for keeping this dentist's son from getting too more treacly!

No.

Ginny sprinted down the corridor and out into the circular room. Ten red x's glowed dimly on ten doors, cooling slowly to orange. The door back to the Veil was open. As footsteps closed behind her, she sprinted toward the one remaining unmarked door.

“Ginny!” Neville screamed, still near the arch. “Come back!”

She turned the knob and entered the room, closing the door tight behind her. She would not be followed. She needed to be alone.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Everything had gone according to plan. They'd tricked Tom into underestimating them, coming down to the Department of Mysteries with just his closest-his snake, Mrs. LeStrange, Professor Snape and Peter Pettigrew. Luna had killed the snake, the two traitors had paid their life debts defending Harry, and Neville (flanked by Ron and Hermione) had had the satisfaction of taking down the snarling, cornered Bellatrix. All as planned.

The idea-Ron's idea-had been to get Voldemort up on the dais, to get him close to the arch, thinking he'd be able to force Harry through, thinking himself to be immortal, and then for as many of them as could to use Banishing Charms on him to force the old bugger through the veil.

But when Luna had signaled that Nagini was dead, Harry had smiled, and Tom had clearly known something was up-had seen it in Harry's mind, perhaps. The bastard had turned and tried to possess her- _possess her!_ -to use her to kill Harry, and she had fought him with everything she had.

She'd heard Harry talk about the agony of having Voldemort enter his mind after Sirius died, and she'd pondered on it, wondering why she had no memory of it hurting; she knew now. The pain was Tom's; he had screamed the minute he'd touched her mind and found it...

Found it full of love. Stupid arse.

But Harry had seen only that Tom was hurting her, and had tackled the gaunt figure and pushed him through the arch, his momentum carrying him through as well. Their eyes-red and green-locked on her as they disappeared into darkness.

The power the Dark Lord knows not. Bloody hell.

She hadn't tried to run through the veil herself, and she was angry that she hadn't. She'd run away. Weeping. She'd run away to...

Ginny blinked and looked up. She was in an oddly curved chamber; the red walls were covered with shelves full of books and potion vials. What the hell did they study here?

It didn't matter. She wept on, her small frame shuddering with the agony. _Oh, help_ , she thought, even as a cold, Tom-like voice sneered inside her help that it was too late for any help-Harry was gone and she was alone. _Help, help, HELP!  
_

A monster seemed to be howling inside of her, clawing to get out, its wail so sublimely terrible that she thought she might explode.

A scarlet-and-gold flare dazzled Ginny's sorrow-blind eyes. A gentle trill. A nip.

“Oh!” Ginny looked up to see flame-colored feathers and a beak of gold. “Oh! Fawkes!” She threw her arms around the Gryffindor-hued phoenix and wept on. “Oh, Fawkes, your tears can't help now, your song can't help now, _nothing_ can help now.”

The bird's sad, wet eyes gazed at her. He nipped at her ear again, and in another flash of flame, disappeared.

Shocked, Ginny stared at where the bird had been. “FINE!” she howled. “Just bloody fine! Go away, then! Go away when I...!”

Suddenly, a searing pain flared on Ginny's back-on her shoulder blades-and she arched and gasped.

Another flash of orange-red, and Fawkes reappeared on the other side of the room. He was perched on a still, prone, black-haired form.

“ _HARRY!”_ Knowing it was only his corpse, knowing he couldn't still be alive, Ginny couldn't help but launch herself across the room, throwing herself on the still body and sobbing.

Something fluttered over her hair. Fawkes's wing, probably. She ignored it.

“Nice to see you too, Ginevra,” came a croaking voice that she had thought she'd never hear again. Flinging herself back, she stared in disbelief. Harry's eyes were open. He was smiling.

His shirt was torn open. The prints that she had left on his chest over a year before glowed lividly there; red-orange, they looked so much like Fawkes that she could only kneel there, blinking in disbelief.

She couldn't speak. Instead she reached out to him-to his chest, where the marks were slowly beginning to fade to white. To his forehead, where a trail of what looked like brown dust lay. She brushed it away; the skin beneath was pale but pink. And smooth.

“They told me I wasn't welcome. Mum. Dad. Dumbledore. Sirius.” His green eyes glistened. “They told me I had some unfinished business.” He reached up and touched her cheek, smiling.

Again she threw herself on his chest, weeping freely, afraid her own heart would burst. When she could breathe again she pushed back, just to look at him. He looked so whole. So tired. So happy.

“Ginny,” he said, a small doubt flickering across his face, “did we...?”

When he peered up at her, she understood. There was a song inside of her-and perhaps it was in the room as well. Perhaps it was Fawkes. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, we did.” She leaned down to kiss the beautiful, unblemished brow where for most of his life he had carried his destiny. Only life, now. No more prophecy. No more doom. No more scar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. This was back when we thought we knew what word Book 7 ended on. :-)
> 
> At this point, I wasn't really feeling interested in or up to a full Horcrux Hunt story. I'd get over that in time (see Back to the Garden).
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


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